


I Carry Your Heart

by TheMourningMadam



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Marriage Law Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:20:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 42,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24365710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMourningMadam/pseuds/TheMourningMadam
Summary: "I carry your heart with me...I carry it in my heart." Hermione and Draco are reluctantly married. Despite all of the adversities-their rocky past, his spiteful parents, their own pigheadedness-they grow to love one another deeply.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 93
Kudos: 307





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just going to travel through every trope imaginable at this point. Here's a marriage law for you, because why not? Written by me, who hasn't really read any long marriage law fics…should be interesting.

We're going to have to take care of this problem immediately," Lucius Malfoy snapped, turning to face his wife and son.

"Be realistic, Father. We can't very well kill her," Draco challenged, leaning into the high-back leather chair at the dining table.

"Lucius, we would be the first suspected if the girl went missing," Narcissa tried to reason.

"I hardly think this is a murderable offense," Draco added, taking a bite of his rapidly cooling porridge.

This was certainly not the way he thought he would begin his day. He lifted the letter, written on heavy parchment and sealed with the Ministry's official stamp. He traced a single finger over the name of his newly appointed betrothed. _Hermione Jean Granger_. Fate was a cruel bitch, mocking him straight to his face.

"She will sully the Malfoy and Black family bloodlines—the purest bloodlines in the wizarding world, Draco. We can't very well have her spawning little half-breeds! What would everyone think?" Lucius lamented, staring at his son with cold eyes.

"That we've finally discarded our ridiculous blood purity ideals and decided to follow the law as it has been directed for once?" the young blond man retorted.

"Draco!" his mother chided.

Draco shot a look to his mother and shoved his breakfast away from his face, no longer hungry and completely done with the conversation at hand. He hadn't even had five minutes to process this information and what it would truly mean for his future. "So, you're telling me you would be _receiving_ to the idea of marrying the little Mudblood?" his father demanded.

"Of course not, Father! We never got along in school. And being tortured on our drawing room floor is hardly going to help," he bit out angrily.

" _Draco!"_ his mother voiced shrilly.

"Calm down, Mother. You'll give yourself a migraine," he rolled his eyes.

"Draco Lucius, we are handling this my way," his father replied.

"You are not going to kill Granger!"

Lucius regarded his son with a hardened set to his face. His mother sighed, pushing a plate of muffins toward him forcefully and dropping her forehead to her fist, closing her eyes as a migraine came on. "Lucius. We cannot kill the girl. We would become the primary suspects and _that_ is the scandal this family needs to avoid at all costs."

"What would you propose we do, Cissy? Allow this farce of a marriage go through? And how would you have the boy consummate with her? How do you think that will go over? And what about when she becomes pregnant? Thousands of years of elite breeding—wasted!" Lucius bellowed, slamming a hand down on the table.

_Elite breeding._ Neither of his parents even cared that he was being forced by law to marry as opposed to marrying for love. They simply cared because it wasn't the arranged marriage _they_ had proposed and contracted with the Greengrass family. The Ministry had nulled all arranged marriage contracts when it became evident that the wizarding race was in dire need of strengthening. According to the Ministry's team of Healers and researchers, their extensive testing would ensure strong and healthy bloodlines from this point forward. The magical cores of the individuals they paired were complements of one another.

"We will take care of her ability to give birth, Lucius. Once it becomes evident that she is barren, Draco will be allowed to divorce her and marry a more suitable match," his wife reasoned, neither speaking to the young man sitting in front of them.

Draco pushed back from the table and strode from the room, unable to take another moment in his parents' suffocating presence. He walked out to the back gardens and breathed in the warm June air. Some way to spend his birthday—having to plan a wedding and a life with someone he couldn't stand to be around for any length of time.

He had gone to the Ministry for his mandated appointment, had taken the magical aptitude tests, answered the questionnaires about his future plans and his ideal witch. He had met with Ministry approved Healers to have every inch of his health, blood and body scrutinized. He had met with the Mind Healers and answered all of their questions about his psyche. And in the end, he had been matched with the swotty little know-it-all.

_Granger._ Draco stopped alongside his mother's rose bushes and scrubbed a hand over his face. He hadn't seen her in person in nearly two years, since he and his parents had been arrested after the Battle of Hogwarts. When they were attending school together, she had a way of getting under his skin like no other. The way her hand shot into the air every time the professors asked a single question. The way she took over the best desk in the library every bloody day. The tone her voice took when she spoke to him.

Nevermind how he felt about her. She _hated_ him. Draco couldn't honestly blame her—he'd been a horrible little bastard to her in school. She'd been tortured in his family home. How could she ever accept him as a spouse? How would she ever trust him to lead them as a couple, a family? How would he ever be able to consummate the marriage without it feeling like he was raping her? How could she be expected to carry his children, to mother little people she would likely loathe simply because they belonged to him?

How could he be expected to marry her?

o-o-o

Hermione read over the letter from the Ministry one more time, angry tears filling her eyes. She had fought so valiantly against this new Ministry Mandated Marriage Law—she had went in front of the Wizengamot on three separate occasions to try and place doubt in their minds about what they were doing. But the wizarding world was in an uproar, afraid of how devastatingly the war had wiped out the population. She seemed to be the only one up in arms about this and received very little backing.

_Draco Lucius Malfoy._ All of those ridiculous tests and examinations and she had been paired with that arrogant git? What did that say about her, to get paired with such an absolute arsehole? She hadn't seen him in two years and she was quite happy about that fact up until now. She sat at her tiny kitchenette table and sobbed angrily. She heard her floo roar to life in the living room, and then, "'Mione? 'Mione—where the hell are you?" came the shaken voice of Harry Potter.

"In here, Harry," she called, wiping the remnants of her tears away from her eyes.

He walked in, carrying his own letter, his face looking ashen. "Hermione, you will not _believe_ who I got paired with!" he croaked, waving the parchment in his hand.

"Well, it can't be worse than Draco Malfoy," she replied solemnly.

"I got Pansy fu—wait, _what_?" he asked as though she had just sprung a second head of bushy curls.

Harry rushed to her side and lifted her letter to read it for himself. _"We are pleased to inform you, that after careful review and consideration, you have been matched with one Draco Lucius Malfoy. The nuptials are to take place within the Ministry approved thirty days…"_

"Blimey, Hermione. Malfoy? How in the bloody hell did you get paired with _him_?" Harry asked, staring in horror at the name printed on the parchment.

"I don't know, Harry. How did you get Pansy Parkinson?" she snapped, snatching the letter from his grasp.

"How do they expect us to manage this within thirty days is the better question," he asked, sinking into the chair across from her. "I've never even had a _real_ conversation with Pansy."

Hermione bit her bottom lip, trying not to cry. "Who did Ron get, then?" she asked curiously, feeling a small pang at the thought of her ex.

Harry smirked a little. "Cho Chang," he replied. "Good luck—she's a little batty, that one."

Hermione huffed out a short laugh before the dismal feeling returned to her stomach. She had to marry Draco Malfoy. How was she going to manage a marriage with someone she loathed? She couldn't remember another time, not even when they were hunting Horcruxes, that she felt more hopeless.

"We should just marry each other before they can force us into this," Harry mentioned, looking up at her.

She shook her head slowly. "We can't. You know they have a ban on any non-appointed marriages now."

Harry dropped his face into his hands and pressed his fingers into his closed eyes, lifting his glasses with the back of his hands as he did so. Hermione made to busy herself as she flitted anxiously around her kitchen, her hands shaking and unsteady as she made them both a cup of tea.

She sat across from him once more and handed him the teacup, her shaking hand spilling a little from the top. Harry cleaned the mess and put a hand over hers. "From everything I've heard, the Malfoys have really changed. I don't think you have anything to fear. It's just…unfortunate."

At that precise moment, an owl the color of charred wood tapped three loud times on her kitchen window. The bird looked regal, menacing. She knew exactly to whom it belonged. Hermione stared at the bird and when it became evident that she was not going to rise to open the window and retrieve the letter, Harry did so in her stead, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder as he walked around behind her.

"Come on in," he told the owl gruffly.

The owl gave an indignant hoot and nipped Harry's finger so hard he drew blood. "Ow! Ruddy flying rat!" Harry said, pointing to Hermione. "Go give her the damn letter then."

The owl hopped from the counter to the table and Hermione saw that he wore a black leather collar with a small platinum nametag. _Hades._ How appropriate when its master was the devil in disguise. She untied the rolled piece of parchment from the bird's leg and he gave her a gentle flutter, as though he was aware that he would one day belong to her as well. She sighed and pointed to Crookshanks' dish. "He won't mind, boy," she told the owl.

She held the roll between her fingers. Her first correspondence from her betrothed. She felt her stomach roll nauseatingly at the thought. It also crossed Hermione's mind that she could easily disappear from wizarding society. She could assimilate back into life as a muggle and ignore this all completely, forfeiting her magic in the process. But she knew in her heart that she couldn't do that either. It hurt too badly to think of giving up the world, the friends, the life she knew to return to a world that was progressing so rapidly that she scarce fit in there anymore.

Hermione took a deep breath and with shaking, nimble fingers unraveled the parchment.

_Granger,_

_Please join me for tea tomorrow in the Manor's northwest garden. We have much to discuss and very little time in which to discuss it._

_-Draco Malfoy_

She could feel her insides roil once more at the thought of returning to that home and she leaped from the table and barely had time to make it into the bathroom before she vomited up what little toast she'd managed before she got the news that her life was ruined.

o-o-o


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not about purebloods with muggle-borns. It's about complimentary bloodlines, period. Remember that Harry (half-blood) is with Pansy (pureblood) and Ron (pureblood) with Cho (at least half-blood, possibly pureblood but not a member of Sacred Twenty-Eight). Last chapter reads, "According to the Ministry's team of Healers and researchers, their extensive testing would ensure strong and healthy bloodlines from this point forward. The magical cores of the individuals they paired were complements of one another."

Hermione apparated to the wrought iron gates that surrounded Malfoy Manor. She looked up at the fortress—significantly less foreboding than the last time she'd been there, as the sky was bright cobalt and cloudless and the gardens lush and green. Still, even with its cheerier aura, she felt her stomach clench painfully at the memories.

Malfoy was leaning against the stone column at one side of the gate, surveying his nails indolently when she arrived, and he stood upright at her arrival. She felt a sense of dread take over her entire being as she looked at the man to whom she would be wed in twenty-nine or less short days. In the two years since the war had ended, he'd filled out—gone was the haunted, gaunt Malfoy of sixth year, and absent was the anguished look in his eyes as she writhed on the floor.

Malfoy was clean cut, fit, handsome. And she despised him for it. Hermione had hated him for nearly a decade and she was expected to marry him, to bear his children. He looked at her for a long moment, as though seeing her for the first time and she realized, somewhere in the back of her mind, that he must be feeling somewhat put out by the entire situation, as well.

"Granger," he said by way of greeting, not biting but not entirely friendly.

"Malfoy," she replied with a nod, her own voice cracking as she tried to ignore the fact that this would soon be her surname as well.

"If you would join me in the garden for tea, we could begin negotiations," he told her, gesturing to the Manor.

 _Negotiations._ Like they were negotiating the sale of a new broom. Hermione gulped and gave one short nod. Malfoy shifted on his feet, putting forth a calm, stony façade. But she could see it in his eyes—he was every bit as anxious as she. "No one's going to Avada me as soon as I step through the gates, are they?" she asked, only half joking.

"No. I think my mother has convinced my father that it would be _unsavory_ to have the Aurors breathing down our backs so soon after the war," he replied and Hermione couldn't tell if he was teasing or serious.

He held out his hand toward her. "Come on then."

Hermione hesitated and wrung her own two hands together instead. Malfoy sighed exasperatedly. "Just take my damn hand, Granger, so I can get you through the wards. We'll walk through the gardens to where we'll take tea."

Without another word, he reached forward and grasped her hand firmly in his own and nearly dragged her through the gate. Hermione felt a tingle run through her as they stepped through the wards, her hair crackling. He dropped her hand as soon as they were safely on the grounds of the Manor and shoved his into his pockets. She could feel her heart slamming erratically in her chest. "So…how do we go about this?"

He looked up toward his house as they slowly walked over some of the lushest grass she could ever remember walking through. "We will negotiate the same as any other contract."

"How…lovely. A marriage of contractual agreements to abide by," she choked out.

"Look…I've always been promised to someone. I've had an entire lifetime of getting used to fact that I could never marry out of love. Unless of course I grew to love Astoria Greengrass, that is. And I know this is all new to you," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully.

"I always thought that when I would get married, I would be in love with the man I'd call my husband," she bit out, growing angry with the Ministry's archaic enforcement of the marriage law.

Malfoy looked at the ground as they walked, nearing tall hedgerows with the sweetest smelling vining honeysuckle plants. "We don't get along even remotely," he remarked suddenly.

Hermione gave a snort of derision. "That is an understatement."

"But I do have certain… _expectations_ in a wife," he finished, eyeing her as she clenched her jaw tightly.

"Oh?" she asked sarcastically.

 _Expectations in a wife._ Hermione felt as though she might vomit at the mere thoughts of wifely _duties_ running through her brain. Malfoy stopped walking and turned to look at her. "Yes. Expectations. I have drawn up a detailed contract and I want to review it with you. Some things may be changed or expounded upon, but for the most part, this is the way I want my life to go."

"So, are we going to be a dictatorship rather than a partnership, then?" she scathingly asked him.

She could feel the anger welling up at his audacity. They were to be wed, both against their will and now he expected her to just roll over and play the role of the hushed little wife? "Granger," his tone was warning. "Let's go sit and look it over."

He led her into the center of a maze of hedges to a glass top table, where a pot of tea and some biscuits awaited them. A small house elf wearing no more than a potato sack stood idly by. She huffed at the sight and Malfoy had the gall to smirk. He made to pull her chair out for her, but seemed to think better of it and instead sat down in the chair next to hers. Hermione lowered herself to the very edge of the chair and looked at the parchment strewn across the table top.

"First, my expectations in a wife and your expectations in a husband," Malfoy began, snapping his fingers at the elf, who jumped forward to make two cups of tea.

"What is your name?" Hermione asked the small elf as she stepped forth.

"Bobo, Mistress," the elf curtsied deeply, her large ears bouncing.

"Well, Bobo, Draco and I can serve our own tea. But we thank you kindly for your services," Hermione told the house elf.

Bobo looked between the two, looking uncertain and anxious. Malfoy raised his eyebrows at Hermione's gumption, but waved his hand dismissively at the elf. "You can go inside with the others, Bobo."

The elf still looked frighteningly unsure of herself, but apparated away with a loud _pop_. "I would appreciate," Malfoy turned to look at Hermione, "you not going against me to my help. It shows insubordination and a lack of respect."

"Insub-?" Hermione began, feeling her face turning scarlet as fire crawled through her veins. "What the hell makes you think I should blindly follow everything you say?"

"I am the head of this family," he argued icily.

"Not yet, you're not. Not until…" she waved her hand, unsure of what date to pick.

"I like the fifteenth of June," Malfoy finished her sentence.

"But that's…nine days away," she told him, her mouth agape.

"If we can agree to the points in this contract, why stretch it out another two weeks? Like a pepper-up potion. Just pinch your nose and down it. Waiting won't change the outcome—trust me, my father went and raised holy hell this morning at the Ministry and they pretty much told him to go fuck himself—in much kinder terms, of course."

 _Nine days._ She had nine days to wrap her mind around the fact that he was going to be her _husband._ But he was right—why keep putting off the inevitable? Nothing was going to change. "Fine. The fifteenth of June. And, I do not want house elves to wait on me. I don't want enslaved servitude of any kind in our home," she huffed, crossing her arms.

"If we are to live at the Manor, our elves are trained and more than happy to serve you," he replied quickly.

Hermione felt her heart drop into her belly. She hadn't been able to get past the idea of consummating their relationship long enough to even think about where they would live. At the look of panic that must have crossed her face, Malfoy's softened some. "That is one thing that is negotiable. But, let's get back to expectations first. They're the easiest part of this."

She could feel her hands shaking and her face burning as she pictured what had happened on the floor a hundred meters from where she sat. Malfoy started to raise his hand and she thought for a moment he might use it to cover her own trembling ones on top of the table, but he dropped it back to his lap. "What do you expect in a husband, then, Granger?"

Hermione had absolutely no clue how to answer that question. She hadn't truly had time to wrap her mind around the idea of a husband yet. She hadn't ever thought she would be in an arranged or forced marriage and she'd always known that her husband would be a decent man. "I—" she shrugged, struggling to find the words.

"How about I go first, then? I expect faithfulness first and foremost. We may not choose each other, but I _will_ remain monogamous to you only. I would appreciate reciprocation," he said, looking up from the parchment and directly into her eyes.

Something in his gaze told Hermione he was telling the truth about remaining faithful. She squirmed in her seat a little. "I'm…not really…" she waved her hand, begging him to fill in the blanks.

His eyes narrowed. "Merlin's saggy tits, Granger. You're not a _virgin_ are you?" he asked, barely masking his incredulity at the thought.

"No!" she told him quickly. _Might as well be for all the good Ron was._ "I'm just not…I—"

"Great. A life of shit sex with a bird I hate. This gets better and better," he mumbled and Hermione could feel her face burning with sheer mortification.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to sleeping with _you_ either," she said, completely affronted.

Malfoy let out a laugh and smirked. "At least I know my way around a female body."

Hermione looked at the smug look on his face and had to clamp her hands together to keep from punching him, third year style. "What else is on your list of expectations?" she asked through clenched teeth.

Malfoy rolled his eyes at her anger. "When I have a function to attend—a ball, gala, or what have you—you will attend with me. When we are in public, we will look as though we are a married couple and not two people who hate each other forced to share a bed," he said, watching her reaction.

"You want us to pretend to be happy?" she scoffed.

"I want you to look as though you don't want to push me off the nearest cliff. You will hold my hand or elbow and mingle with my associates because appearances are everything and how I make my livelihood. The livelihood that will provide you with a comfortable life."

"I want nothing from you. I make my own money, thank you," she bit out.

"Doing?" he asked.

"I work at Flourish and Blotts," she told him shortly.

He narrowed his eyes. "You can have any career in the wizarding world—you _saved_ the wizarding world. And you settled at a textbook store?" he asked, his tone judgmental.

Hermione swallowed hard as tears stung at her eyes. He had hit a nerve with her. She had been feeling inferior, as though she could have done anything in the world but settled on something easy and comfortable after coming through the stresses of war. He hit her where it hurt. "I didn't _settle_. I just wanted to do something I enjoyed for once."

"And what are you planning to do, long term?" he asked, as though working at Flourish and Blotts was something not even close to acceptable.

Hermione glared at him, feeling embarrassed by his questioning. Truth was, she wanted to open a little bookshop of her own—one that had both muggle and wizarding, pleasure and practical. "I've been saving up to buy a store of my own," she admitted quietly.

Malfoy stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "I also expect you to keep me abreast when it comes to matters concerning our child when the time comes. That's really all."

 _Faithfulness. The appearance of being happy when in public. Inform him of any matters concerning their unborn child._ Easy enough. He raised an eyebrow and lifted one hand in question. "Well? What about you?"

"I'm not stupid, Malfoy. I know that you and I have very little chemistry…really none at all. If you do decide to go…elsewhere, I will not blame you. All I ask is that you wait until after we have…conceived," she told him uncomfortably.

He narrowed his eyes at her incredulously. "Granger, you are to be my _wife._ That may not mean a lot to you, but that means everything to me. I will remain faithful. I will lead you as a husband should lead his wife and family. I will provide for you to the best of my abilities. You will want for nothing."

"Malfoy, we don't even know each other," she argued.

"We've got our lives to figure it out, now don't we?" he asked, and Hermione noted the hollowness in his voice. "Any demands you'd like to make so I don't look like the arsehole here?"

Hermione bit her lip and looked up at the Manor. "I do not want to live here. There's too many bad memories. Too much negative energy. And your parents."

Malfoy slowly nodded, looking down at the table between them and tapping his fingertips against the glass. "Where would you propose we live?"

"I have a flat in London—"

"No. We will not live in Muggle London in some dingy little flat," he snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. "We will have something built."

"Why on earth would we do that when I have a place?"

"Malfoys do not live in _flats_ , Granger."

"Then we can buy something small. I will help…I've got some money saved."

Malfoy gave her a bored glare. "Buy something. Where?"

"Maybe in the country…a little cottage," she shrugged, picking at the contract before her.

"You have something in mind already," he accused.

"I've had my eye on a place for a year or so," she told him quietly.

"Where?"

"Rowensmeade. On the outskirts of town toward the hills of the highlands."

Malfoy seemed amused by her answer. "Fine. We will find a home. But _I_ will buy it. You save your money for the bookstore."

"I don't want to feel like I owe you anything."

"You are going to be my _wife,"_ he reminded her once more, rapidly losing his patience with her.

"I want separate rooms," she told him.

"Fine. Done. You will keep me informed of your fertile periods so that we might try to conceive," he complied easily.

"And what about children? If anything should happen to us…"

"Granger," he rolled his eyes, "there will be no divorce. Wizards do not flit in and out of marriages like muggles do. This is for life."

 _This is for life._ His words echoed through her brain. She was really doing this. She was going to marry Draco Malfoy. They were negotiating a place to live and discussing children like possessions. Her in-laws were going to be Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy.

"Where are your parents?" she asked, peering around as though they might see the Malfoy parents hiding behind bushes.

"My mother is out shopping and my father had business to attend to at the office. I forbid them from hovering—this is stressful enough for the both of us as it is," he told her. "I am a grown man and I will not allow them to continue trying to pry into my life."

Hermione lifted the contract and read over it, seeing all of the points they had spoken of added and adjusted as they negotiated. The rest of it consisted of everything she had expected—an ironclad prenuptial agreement, a right of survivorship and the basics of their living arrangements. "Are we really doing this?" she asked him, everything she read washing over her in a wave of dread and despair.

"Unfortunately," he conceded.

"And the wedding itself? It will be hard to pull something together in nine days," she said, once again overwhelmed by the monumental turn their lives were getting ready to take.

"Not for my mother. She's been plotting this for twenty years—you don't have to do anything except show up," he told her.

She was being robbed of her right to a loving marriage and now she was being forced to have some lavish wedding she didn't want. "Can we not?"

"Not what? Get married? The Ministry has made it clear that they would imprison those who don't comply—"

"No, not the marriage. Can we not have the huge extravagant wedding with our friends who don't get along and the reporters who don't understand how incredibly dismaying this day will be for us both?" she voiced, feeling utterly distressed.

"You want me to tell my mother that she's not getting to plan the wedding of her dreams for her only child?" he asked, a slow grin spreading across his face. " _Nothing_ would give me greater pleasure, but this is the first of many appearances we will make together. We need some kind of a ceremony, Granger."

"Can't we just do something intimate here in the gardens and call it a day?" she nearly begged.

He leaned forward and crossed his hands on the table. "I tell you what. We'll have my parents, the Weasleys and Potter, a few of my closest friends, and only a few of the top-ranking officials my parents wish to rub elbows with. Less than fifty, say."

Hermione realized that he was being agreeable. "Why are you being so…easy to get along with?"

"As I said, Granger—perhaps you couldn't hear for all of the hair covering your ears—I have had twenty years of grooming to prepare me for the fact that I would marry a stranger. I am not thrilled to marry you, but I resigned myself to a loveless marriage a long time ago. You, on the other hand, haven't had the same time to wrap your head around the idea that your marriage wouldn't be the thing of fairy tales. This is going to be difficult for us both, more so for you."

"That's almost…kind," she said accusatorily.

"I'm just full of surprises," he deadpanned.

They shared a moment of silence and an embarrassed look and Malfoy sighed. "I set an appointment at the bridal shop in Hogsmeade for you to get fitted for a gown. Do you have a preference on anything for the ceremony? Do you want to meet with my mother to discuss details?"

"I prefer nighttime. Purple. And I'm allergic to lilies," Hermione said almost mechanically, wanting nothing more than to avoid wedding planning.

Hermione hated balls and galas. She wanted nothing to do with picking flowers and stationery and centerpieces. All to marry a man she could never love and who loathed her just as deeply.

o-o-o


	3. Chapter 3

"Was it awful?" Ginny Weasley asked, running a finger along the beaded silk bodice of the closest wedding gown.

Hermione nearly groaned when she spotted Daphne Greengrass fitting another bride in the corner. Of course a former Slytherin and friend of Draco Malfoy would be the one to help get her through selecting a gown. She should have suspected as much. She sighed exasperatedly. "It went as well as could be expected. Strangely amicable," Hermione commented, recalling her negotiations meeting with Draco the day before.

Ginny ran a hand through her long ginger locks nervously. She hadn't received her letter just yet—hers would likely come with the second round of letters sent out the following month. But she had been heartbroken to not be Harry Potter's match. "I can't believe your marrying _Draco Malfoy_."

"Don't sound so cheerful, Red," came Daphne's bored drawl as she ambled to the couple.

Ginny winced at being overheard but made no attempt to apologize for insulting Daphne's friend. The strawberry blond Slytherin looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "You have a nice, long neckline and strong collarbones. Something off the shoulders would be lovely on you. Slim hips, long legs…and you never were one for fanciful adornments in school. Something pretty, but plain enough to not be ostentatious?" she assessed, looking to Hermione to see if she'd pinpointed her correctly.

Hermione nodded, wishing beyond hope that she could be swallowed into the ground. Daphne's features softened slightly. "Look…I don't want to marry Neville Longbottom. But…it is what it is. Draco is…not all bad."

"Very reassuring," Hermione mumbled as Daphne led her into a room and began plucking gowns from the hooks with expertise.

As Hermione tried on the first one, a tear fell, hot and wet, down her cheek. Malfoy expected her to meet with him that afternoon, and she didn't think her nerves could handle it. She stepped out, not caring which dress was chosen, and allowed the other two witches to assess each one. After the fourth dress, she stepped out and Ginny and Daphne both smiled wide. Ginny wiped her tears from her face with a sympathetic smile and turned her to look at herself in the mirror.

A simple cream dress of silk, with an off the shoulder set of three quarter length sleeves of matching lace that really accented her collarbones and shoulders. It hugged her hips before flaring out slightly around her legs, a high slit running up to her mid-thigh. It was, admittedly, a lovely dress and she could admit that she looked incredible in it. If she were to wear it for any man other than Draco Malfoy. "I'll take this one."

"It's a good choice," Ginny affirmed.

Daphne ran her wand over the seams, tightening it where needed. "Marrying Draco is not a death sentence, Granger. He's a good-looking man, he's rich, he's driven, he's redemptive."

Hermione snorted at that last one. Redemptive. Sure. "He's not right for me. We hate each other," she argued.

Daphne shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore, does it? What the Ministry says, goes. Or you go to Azkaban."

Hermione unzipped her gown and handed it to Daphne, perhaps a bit more forcefully than necessary at her harsh reminder. When she had redressed, she made her way out to pay and found Daphne and Ginny plucking shoes from the shelves. "I think these would be lovely. Blue and purple are the wedding colors," Ginny was telling her.

"Not Slytherin green. I bet Narcissa Malfoy _loved_ that," Daphne laughed heartily, flipping her perfectly curled hair over one shoulder as she surveyed the midnight blue heels.

"They're too tall," Hermione said from behind them, miffed that the two were getting along so swimmingly.

"You're too short. Draco is nearly an entire foot taller than you," Daphne replied, bringing the shoes to the counter with the gown.

Hermione pursed her lips. "Yes. God forbid I don't look just perfect next to him for all of those photos in the _Daily Prophet_. Here."

She tried to hand a handful of galleons to Daphne, who put her hand up firmly. "Draco opened an account with us in preparation. It's taken care of. Granger, you'd better get that chip off your shoulder sometime in the next eight days," Daphne told her, handing her a gown bag and her heels in another bag to Ginny.

"This may be normal for all of you purebloods—"

"Hey!" Ginny interjected.

"You _traditional_ purebloods. But an arranged marriage is not normal to the rest of us."

"Welcome to the new, post-War normal, Hermione Granger-soon-to-be-Malfoy. This is our world now," Daphne remarked sassily, giving her an icy look.

"It was a pleasure," Hermione told her with a false smile, leaving the bridal store in a hurry.

She and Ginny stepped into the warm air and Hermione felt like she could breathe for the first time in a few hours. That feeling dissipated as she thought of going to meet him for tea that afternoon. Daphne's words about Malfoy swam through her head but she couldn't get his cold stare and biting remarks to line up with Daphne's assessment of him. She tried her best to ignore the stares and whispers behind hands as patrons of Hogsmeade spoke of the tragedy of a war heroin being forced to marry an ex-Death Eater.

o-o-o

Draco stared up at the last house at the edge of the town of Rowensmeade. It was certainly not up to a Malfoy's standards. Not by a long shot. It was a two-story cottage, its façade made of a variety of brown, slate and white stones. It was surrounded by a shoulder high stone wall and had an old, ornate gate that was likely bronze at one point but had oxidized to a green color. He raised his eyebrow when he stepped into the front garden and saw well-kept flower beds lining both sides and all along the front of the house. Ivy grew in climbing vines all across the front of the house. It was charming, he supposed, in a fairy-tale sort of way.

For some reason, Granger wanted this home. He could afford any Manor in England, could have a large elaborate home built for the two of them. But she wanted this one. He tried not to sneer in disgust at how picturesque and quaint the entire setting was. He didn't even know why he was humoring her to begin with. As the head of the house, he should just put his foot down and do what he wanted anyway—not that living at Malfoy Manor appealed much to him either.

Draco rapped three hard times on the front door, warily eyeing a group of black-eyed susans that were blowing entirely too perkily in the warm summer breeze. The cheery red paint of the front door was beginning to chip away and he scoffed to himself as the door swung open. "Ah, Mr. Malfoy. Come in," Willow Carron told him, waving one of her age-spot covered hands.

Mrs. Carron owned the home currently but was looking to move to Germany with her children. Draco had contacted her earlier that morning about the home and she had agreed to meet with him. Of course, the knowledge of his wealth gave him an advantage any other ex-Death Eater may not have had.

"I'm not sure I understand fully _why_ you wanted to look into buying my home when it is not nearly as large as your home in Wiltshire," she told him, leading him into a quaint home.

Draco eyed the empty home's worn hard wood floors, the exposed beams running along the ceiling, the bright cream walls that were in desperate need of repainting. A man walked out of the kitchen, his hand on his wand in its holster. They didn't fully trust Draco. He put his chin up and took a deep breath. "As I'm sure you've read, I am to marry Hermione Granger next week," he began slowly and he noticed the grimace Mrs. Carron tried swiftly to hide.

"Yes, we'd read," the man told him, eyeing him up and down as Draco crossed his hands behind his back.

"Miss Granger is quite taken with this home for some reason," he told them, no longer feigning niceties if they weren't going to attempt to show the same false respect.

He looked around the home and then back at the older couple. "Can we look around?" he asked, moving toward the kitchen.

The kitchen was smaller, with a wide-open hearth. A large cauldron hung in the fireplace and he walked along, opening doors to peer into pantries that were entirely too small. He left the kitchen and went through the dining room—only big enough for a six-seater table, at most—and up the stairs to the bedrooms. He went into the largest of three rooms and frowned. It was smaller than his bathroom at the Manor. The floorboards creaked as he walked across them to the en suite bathroom—the bath tub was ancient. He groaned at the thought of living in such close proximity. There was a staircase leading upward once more toward the attic. He stepped up into it and realized it was a nice, large space. Perfect for an at-home library where he could relax into a good book.

He met the Carrons downstairs and pulled out his bag of galleons. "How much?"

The couple looked at each other. After negotiating back and forth for nearly an hour, they finally settled on a number that both parties could agree on—less than what the Carrons were asking, because the house needed a total make-over, and more than Draco though the home was worth. Granger had better appreciate the efforts he was going to. He couldn't imagine actually living in this dump.

He and the Carrons signed contracts and they parted ways after hours together of back and forth banter. Draco rubbed his temples as he leaned on the counter of the island. He hated this home. He hated the idea of marrying Granger. He hated his lack of a choice. Sure, he'd been groomed for an arranged marriage his entire life. But, never in a million years could he have guessed it would be to that little swot.

He sighed and apparated to the Manor just in time to greet her for their afternoon tea. She apparated next to him, looking every bit as tired as he suddenly felt. "Did you find something to suit you?" he asked her, not really caring much.

"I have a dress," she replied shortly.

This was the most awkward encounter he'd ever had, and he didn't know what to say to take away that strange edge. He looked at her from the corner of his eyes as he shoved his hands in his pockets. Perhaps if she saw that he was making an effort. "I have something to show you."

Granger looked up at him from under her lashes—impossibly long ones, he noted as they fell over her cheeks when she closed her eyes. "What is it?" she asked him wearily.

He held out his arm and she hesitantly put her hand on his elbow. He side-along apparated them to the home in Rowensmeade. Granger looked a little green around the gills when they landed, but managed to take a long deep breath to steady herself. She looked up at the home and her brow furrowed. "The cottage?"

"Your cottage," Draco corrected, opening the gate and gesturing for her to enter.

"Mine?" she asked, and he saw her eyes got to where the sign had hung announcing its availability, now absent.

"It was a pain in the arse negotiation, but you said you wanted it," he shrugged, wrinkling his nose at the sight of the home once more.

Granger stared at him for a long moment and he felt the tips of his ears begin to burn under her scrutiny. "I know I'm fetching, but could you stop staring and make yourself busy inside?" he snapped shortly.

She shook her head and frowned, then looked up at the house once more. "I can't believe you bought a house because I said I wanted it."

"Be realistic, Granger. Were we going to live in the Manor? So you could relive the torture every time you walk anywhere near the front of the house? So my parents could attempt to kill you every morning?" he asked snidely, rolling his eyes at her tone.

Granger shot him a dirty look and walked slowly up the stairs and across the porch to the door. She hesitated slightly and he knew what she was thinking. This solidified it—they were really getting married and were to spend their lives together. He swallowed his own anxious bile down as she stepped into the home.

Despite herself, Granger's face lit up at the sight of the home's interior. Whereas he scowled at the exposed wood, she ate it up, smiling widely as her shoes padded over knotty hard wood. She made her way into the kitchen and ran her hand over the wooden countertops, and Draco could have sworn he'd heard a small squeal when she saw the open hearth. Granger peered out of the large picture window and into the back garden, crowded with wildflowers. She sighed happily, and turned around, intent on going up the stairs.

When she caught sight of him watching her intently, her smile fell. It was as though she had forgotten, however momentarily, that he would also be living here with her. Draco nearly laughed at the dramatic change in her mood. "Go on upstairs and take a look."

She bit her lip, but she was curious, he could tell. He jerked his head toward the stairs. She went upstairs and seemed to have the same thought about the bedrooms that he had. "I suppose you'll want the biggest bedroom, then?" she asked, looking into the middle bedroom.

"I am more accustomed to larger spaces," he shrugged.

Granger pursed her lips. "No matter. I can use an extendable charm in here."

"Illegal," he commented.

"So, turn me in to the Ministry," she countered, looking into the bathroom in the corridor.

Draco rolled his eyes at her cattiness and crossed his arms. "There's a third floor where I thought we could put a library," he told her, pointing to the staircase.

That piqued her interest and she climbed the stairs. The room was perfect. Like the largest bedroom downstairs, an entire wall was one giant window, allowing natural light to filter in. Perfect for reading during the day. Granger turned to him, wringing her hands nervously. "I…I don't even know what to say, Malfoy. I really don't."

"A 'thank you' would be nice," he said with a stare.

"That doesn't seem like enough," she told him. "I wish you would let me give you what I have saved."

He glared at her. "This place is abysmal and cost me close to nothing. I don't want your money," he told her, eyeing the small spaces with disgust.

"If you hate it so much, why buy it?" she asked him, looking only slightly hurt by his biting comments against her dream home.

"Because you wanted it," he told her, lowering his gaze to meet hers.

"Since when do you care what I want?" she gave him a look of bewilderment.

"Since the Ministry told me I had to," he countered. "You're going to be my wife. As I told you yesterday, that means something to me. Though, you seem to not have listened to a damn thing I said."

Granger peered once more around the room that would be their library and then back at him. "This house is perfect. It may not be some sprawling Manor, but it is quaint and bigger than the home I grew up in. It's got classic charm that you can't find in Muggle homes. Like the hearth, for example—Muggles wouldn't know what to do with it. I want to do the repairs myself. With the use of magic, I can finish in a week."

Draco raised an eyebrow. He'd be damned if he was going to come and paint walls with Hermione Granger. They descended the stairs and stood in their new kitchen, both thinking about the monumental change ahead of them. Draco leaned on one palm on the island countertop. Granger was biting her lip and staring, unseeingly, at the cauldron hanging in the hearth.

"Should we kiss before the wedding?" she asked suddenly, looking toward him, her cheeks bright red.

Draco was taken aback and felt his pulse quicken in his neck. "I'm sorry?"

"I mean…you know…I don't think our first kiss should be in front of other people…" she was stuttering her way through her explanation.

"We don't…it can just be a peck. Just to seal the deal," he said, though he was now looking at where her bottom lip was between her teeth.

She took a deep breath in, and looked around, anywhere but at him directly. Her face was burning an endearing shade of scarlet. She looked as mortified at the prospect of kissing as he felt, silent tears sliding down her face. He looked out of the window at the sun going ever lower toward the horizon. Fuck. It just had to be Granger. If any other bird had proposed kissing before their wedding, he would have jumped at the opportunity. But this was Granger standing in the kitchen—their kitchen—looking ashamed and unsure. Fuck.

Draco crossed the kitchen to where she stood in three strides and stopped just short of her. Should he just grab her face and kiss her? No…that would seem brutish and he couldn't very well force himself on someone. Should he ask permission? If he was too tender, then Granger might misconstrue his feelings—of which there weren't any except apprehension and dread. But weren't they to get married? They were to consummate their relationship at some point. Should he ease her into physical contact? Would it be so bad to not hate one another? She would never accept being married to the man who had once watched her being tortured on his floor. His thoughts were scattered and everywhere all at once.

"Granger," he began, running a single finger along her jaw to lift her chin.

He brought his lips to hers in a mere brushing of flesh against flesh. A shiver ran through her as she took a step back. A fantastic way to start a marriage—a wife who recoils at her husband's slightest touch. Draco took another determined step toward her. "You can't step back at the altar," he told her, lifting her face once more.

"I'm sorry," she tried to shake her head within his hands, "this is just terribly awkward…"

Draco brought his lips to hers in a second kiss and she bumped his top lip painfully with her teeth. He pulled back, touching his lip to see if it was bleeding. "Fuck, Granger. Do you always kiss this poorly?"

She looked up, her cheeks shining with embarrassment, but with determination in her eyes. Draco raised one eyebrow at the ferocity in her features and smirked slightly. Even at something as embarrassing and foreign to them as snogging one another, she was determined to show him up. He used his knuckles to brush away the stray tears from her cheeks—he didn't much fancy kissing a girl who was crying over his mere presence in her life.

Then he eyed her hair—more curls than he could even imagine trying to count and thicker than any other witch's hair he'd ever seen. But not so much a nest as just an abundance. Granger bit her lip as she looked at his, trying to come up with a plan to best kiss him. Draco used his thumb to drag her lip from between her teeth and his smirk deepened. He placed his hands on either side of her neck, tilting her face fully toward his. Her eyes were still shining and rimmed with redness from her crying spell, but there was an intensity smoldering in their brown depths that he could appreciate.

He brought his lips to hers for a third time. He meant it to be a quick demonstration, one in which she didn't pull away and didn't bust his lip wide open with her teeth. But he felt her hands, shaking ever so slightly, come to rest tentatively on his chest. Her height grew two inches as she stood on her tip-toes to fill the space. Granger tasted sweet, like blackberries and sweet cream and he wondered for a moment if she had an insatiable sweet tooth like him. The sweetness on her lips brought an odd thrill through his body, as though she were the forbidden fruit and he would be brought to ruin as a result of just how much he was enjoying this moment.

Draco's hand slid from her neck to her waist, pulling her slightly closer into him. At the feeling of their chests brushing, Granger opened her mouth and hesitantly suckled at his top lip—her way of asking to deepen the kiss. He had long since lost all train of conceivable thought and threaded his long fingers into her hair, pulling her closer as he bit her bottom lip gently, coaxing her lips apart so he could glide his tongue in to meet hers.

At the feel of his mouth open and hot, his tongue mingling with hers, Granger stepped in closer to him and put one hand to his neck. Her smaller hand, warm against his skin, sent a shiver of delight through him. The hand that grabbed her waist tightened slightly, pulling her hips toward his. The resulting whimper that caught at the back of Granger's throat made Draco smirk once more and pull back. "Hmmm…perhaps a bit less tongue next time, Granger. Keep it clean in front of my parents."

The look she gave him was withering and he laughed gently, brushing his lips against hers once more, ever so briefly. "See you tomorrow. For actual tea at the Manor?" he asked, backing away from her with a smug look on his face.

Granger touched her kiss swollen lips and nodded dumbly. For his part, Draco felt equally as stupified. His brain was foggy and his fingertips were tingling as he gazed at the perplexed look on Granger's face. What did the muggles call it when two people share a perfect first (or third) kiss? _Chemistry._ Did he and Granger have chemistry? He certainly enjoyed that kiss far more than he could have imagined.

o-o-o


	4. Chapter 4

"I kissed Draco Malfoy!" Hermione told Ginny the next day, as soon as the redhead stepped through the floo and into Hermione's flat.

" _What?"_ Ginny asked incredulously, grabbing Hermione's hand to steady herself. "How did you go from crying over a wedding dress to snogging him?"

"I have no idea," Hermione answered honestly, replaying the kiss for the millionth time in her head.

She had agonized over their first kiss since opening her letter from the Ministry, playing random scenarios in her mind until she thought she'd go mad. But nothing had prepared her for the kiss itself. Malfoy had hesitated initially, but once he had made up his mind to give in to her worries, he hadn't held back. He hadn't given her the "peck" he had mentioned it could be. On the contrary, her soon-to-be husband had given her a kiss that left her weak at the knees, more raw and passionate than any she'd ever had prior. And Hermione had no idea how to feel about that.

"Well, what happened? Tell me everything, _in detail,"_ Ginny instructed, pushing Hermione into a chair at the kitchen table and charming Hermione's coffee pot into making coffee.

"I went to the Manor for tea, except we didn't drink tea—"

"Oh, Merlin. You didn't get around to drinking the tea? _What were you doing?"_

"He bought us a house. That cottage in Rowensmeade—"

"He bought you your dream house? _Draco Malfoy_ went and bought a cottage in the Scottish Highlands, _for you?"_ Ginny's mouth was hanging open.

"He said he purchased it because I wanted it," Hermione told her, a small smile gracing her lips at the uncharacteristically kind gesture.

" _Because you wanted it?"_ she parroted, putting a hand over her heart. "Forgive me, 'Mione, but I'm having a hard time believing a damn thing you are saying to me."

"I know! So, we were standing there in the kitchen—our kitchen—and I just kind of…word vomited. I asked him if he wanted to kiss before the wedding so that our first kiss wasn't in front of everyone," Hermione gushed, her words spewing forth rapidly.

"You asked him to kiss you?" Ginny nearly shrieked, her pitch louder than a banshee's.

"I didn't expect him to do it right then!" Hermione said, her own tone reaching new unearthly pitches.

"So, what happened? Was he a good kisser? Was it rough? Tender? Did he just quick, one-two and done?" Ginny asked rapid-fire.

"He marched up to me and took a moment…then he just tilted my face up toward him and kissed me quick. I stepped back—"

"You didn't! Oh, 'Mione, you can't do that at the wedding!"

"That's what he said, so he kissed me again and I bumped his lip—"

Ginny brought her palm to her forehead forcefully. "No wonder you and my brother didn't work out."

Hermione huffed indignantly. "Hey. Your brother was half of that equation. But, _anyway,_ he kind of…looked at me with this _look_. And he kissed me again."

"What happened the third time? What kind of _look?_ Did you full on headbutt him?" Ginny asked, genuinely dreading the answer.

Hermione rolled her eyes and fiddled with her coffee mug, averting her eyes. "No. The look was almost…lusty? Raw? It was…" she looked up at Ginny, who was leaning across the table and looking at her, desperately clinging to her every word. "It was _amazing."_

"How so?" the redhead asked, her ginger eyebrows rising toward her hairline.

Hermione could feel her cheeks begin to burn as she thought about the emotions and physical feelings that the one kiss had dredged from deep within her, with regards to a man who was nearly a stranger to her. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that the little slick-haired ferret who had bullied her unrelentingly in life was now planning a wedding with her, buying her a home for them to share, kissing her like her lips were all he'd ever wanted.

"He is the strangest dichotomy of stubbornly arrogant and thoughtfully sweet. And the way he kisses—passionate, more than some quick touch of lips. I'm talking hands in my hair, _tongue in my mouth!"_ Hermione finished, getting slightly, elatedly hysterical.

Ginny was staring at her with her mouth agape, a biscuit halfway to her lips. "Merlin. Who would have known that he would so freely kiss—"

"The Mudblood?" Hermione offered, and Ginny's ears tipped pink.

"Well…yes. All those years of spouting that shit and now he's buying the most famous muggle-born in wizarding history the cottage of her dreams and snogging her senseless in the kitchen," her eyebrows knitted together as though she were trying to solve a riddle.

"I'm supposed to meet him at the cottage in an hour before we go to the Manor for brunch," Hermione said, wringing her hands as she glanced at her muggle clock on the wall.

"Brunch? You mean a repeat of yesterday's tea time?" Ginny asked her.

"What if he tries to kiss me again?" Hermione asked her friend, worrying her lip between her teeth.

"You kiss him. He's going to be your husband—he'll expect affection at some point!"

Hermione groaned and put her forehead to her arms on the table. The rapid succession of their conversation left her with a dizzying headache and she was wholly unprepared to face Malfoy again. The fact that she knew very little of the man she was to wed weighed on her conscious. Memories of her punching him in third year swirled with the heady feel that his lips on hers had left behind.

o-o-o

Hermione apparated into their empty living room, carefully padding across the hardwood floors to avoid the acoustically deafening reverberation of her footsteps. "Malfoy?" she called, feeling his presence within their wards.

"Up here," he responded, his voice crisp and clear though he was in the attic space.

She climbed to the third floor and found him staring out of the wall-sized window, his back to her and his hands clasped behind his back. She stood in the doorway uncertainly and neither said anything for a moment. "I was thinking we could expand this some, perhaps add a few muggle tomes as well?" he said suddenly, turning to face her.

"You want to read muggle books?" she asked him incredulously.

"I am marrying a muggle-born. There is going to be a learning curve, I'm sure. Not to mention, I've always been curious to read about the muggles' take on magic," he shrugged, putting his hands into his pockets.

Hermione simply raised one eyebrow and the blond sighed. "You can't keep calling me 'Malfoy.' You need to begin calling me Draco, as you will be a Malfoy soon enough."

As though the frazzled witch needed that reminder. A simple nod of the head displayed her understanding. Draco ran a hand through his hair, flopping it back over his forehead as he let out a long sigh. When he withdrew his other hand from his pocket, it was grasping a small velvet emerald box. "If we are to be wed, you will need a ring," he told her, looking from the box and up to her.

In three steps, Draco was standing in front of her, looking hesitantly at the box in his palm. He gave himself a reassuring nod and cracked the box open, turning it to show her. "It is tradition for the Malfoy women to wear an emerald, as a long lineage of Slytherins. But I didn't think that would be much appreciated given your dreadful status as a Gryffindor," he told her, a small smirk gracing his lips to let her know he was only teasing.

Hermione looked at the ring, nestled within the velvet. A circular ruby, shimmering in the bright light, a halo of diamonds encasing it. It was simple, yet stunningly elegant and it took her breath away. Or perhaps it was the meaning behind it that took her breath away—Draco was going against tradition, going against his societal norm to make her more comfortable, yet again. She looked from the ring to his face, carefully guarded and gauging her reaction. Hermione ran a fingertip over it, her heart pounding fiercely within her. _An engagement ring?_ The bright witch had never given any thought to something so trivial as a piece of jewelry when facing the enormity of their betrothal. But now, sparkling in front of her eyes, was the single piece of jewelry that would mark her as his wife, would seal their engagement and life together. And it terrified Hermione.

" _Hermione,"_ his smirk returned, though it was significantly humbled, "I know we didn't choose each other. And I know that, given the choice, we never would have chosen one another. But here we are, betrothed however reluctantly. I meant what I said—I will provide for you as a husband should, you will never want for anything. I hope that, given we are to begin sprouting children soon enough, we can shed the "longtime foes" status and move toward friends and companions."

Draco plucked the dainty ring from its pillow and stowed the box in his pocket. Hermione was frozen in the moment, unable to string together two thoughts or make her limbs or lips move. He leaned forward and tenderly lifted her left hand between them. He slid the ring onto her finger and ran his thumb over it as they both watched the magic work in the band and fit itself to her.

"Malf—Draco, I—you don't have to go through the motions with me," Hermione argued, though she marveled at the way the ruby flashed against her skin.

The blond turned her hand over to study her palm and ran his thumb along the heart line that ran nearly the length of her fingers. "You'll learn, Hermione. One day."

"Learn what?" she asked, furrowing her brow and swallowing thickly at the feel of his fingertip still tracing the lines in her palm.

"I'm not the enemy," he finally responded, his pewter eyes raising to look into hers.

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, but he cut her off with a kiss to her cheek that lingered a little longer than perhaps necessary. When he pulled away, she could feel her face burning as she brought a hand up to trace his jaw. He cupped her hand in his own and smiled sadly as he brought it down to rest at her side. She felt like a complete arsehole in that moment but didn't know how to properly rectify the situation. This man standing in front of her was not the Draco Malfoy she'd always known. But he was not someone she knew, either. "I'm sorry," she told him honestly. "This is so new to me."

"You'll get used to the idea of an arranged marriage, eventually. Perhaps after our third or fourth child," he said, the words teasing but his tone serious.

"No, I don't mean the marriage law. I mean you—you're new to me. You're not that schoolyard bully you once were. You're… kind and generous and accommodating," her voice held a slight awe that made the corners of his lip twitch. "I can't pretend that I am happy to be marrying you, because, as you said, we didn't choose one another. We aren't in love. But…you're trying. And if you can attempt to make it work, I will as well."

Draco looked around their barren library. "This house truly is an atrocity, Granger. And Malfoys do not do menial work—that's what our house elves are paid to do," he told her as he studied the molding and trim, "but if you want, I will come and help you with some of the repairs here. Perhaps we could talk, get to know one another. Maybe it won't be so stiff and agonizingly awkward at the wedding?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "I'm going to ignore the jab at indentured servitude—for now—and accept your offer. With your help, I can get it done twice as fast."

"Where shall we go after the ceremony?"

His question caught Hermione off guard. "What do you mean?"

"Well, usually, there is a honeymoon."

Hermione shifted uneasily on her feet. "There's no need to pretend we're in love and whisk off to some unchartered island. I'd feel more comfortable with coming back here."

Draco let out a long whistle of air. "My parents want to meet you. If you're ready to head to the Manor," he voiced.

Every nerve in her body sang at that declaration and she took two steps back, ready to make a run for it. "It needs to be done eventually. The ceremony isn't really the time for that, is it?" she managed to choke out.

He laughed. "No. I suppose not."

o-o-o

Draco led Granger over the garden of Malfoy Manor and to the back. She was breathing heavily next to him, seemingly to calm her nerves. He felt guilt ripple through him at the memories that plagued him, and likely her, causing her to feel inadequate, frightened, anxious. He wanted to reach over and take her hand, but he'd shown enough weakness for one day in giving her that ring and the sentiments that accompanied it.

The wizard was not remotely interested in the brunette romantically—he never had been. But he knew what was expected of him as the head of the house, the Malfoy heir, an aristocratically raised pureblood, a man. And he would live up to those expectations. His one hope was that Hermione would come around if he made the effort to show her that he wasn't not the same person he once was.

Draco hadn't dreaded anything as much as he was dreading that afternoon since the Dark Lord had taken up residence in his home. His parents would never be accepting of the Ministry's choice for him. They may have touted reformed ways in the face of the _Daily Prophet_ , but they were as bigoted as ever and he cringed at the thought of the line of questioning his father would no doubt inundate the witch with.

"Look, let's just have lunch and get out. Talk of the wedding ceremony is safe—my mother thrives on lavish parties," he mentioned, pointing toward the door leading into the tearoom.

Hermione entered the room before him and he placed a hand on her lower back to guide her, hoping it would ease her fear some. He carefully guided her into the home, avoiding the hall where the drawing room sat. She had every reason to be afraid—he wasn't entirely sure his parents wouldn't try to kill her at some point. He held out hope that they wouldn't be idiotic enough to try, especially before he was to wed the girl. They would all be rounded up and tossed into Azkaban. And after the wedding, he could keep her at a safe distance from them until he was sure she was safe, and his father had acquiesced.

When his parents saw the young couple enter, the Malfoys both stood, both of their faces pulled into strained expressions. His mother attempted a smile, perhaps trying to be cordial but landed on sinister, while his father simply stared down his nose at the unwelcome intruder to the Malfoy legacy. "Miss Granger," Lucius' drawl broke the uncomfortable silence.

"Mister Malfoy," she responded, doing a half bow, half-curtsey that made Narcissa raise an eyebrow and Draco snigger behind her lightly.

"Sit," he instructed, waving at the seat farthest from where he assisted Narcissa into her chair.

Draco pulled her chair out for her and she said right on the edge, looking like a mouse staring down a pair of kneazles. "This arrangement is most unfortunate," Narcissa began, looking at Granger with only mildly disguised hatred. "I'm sure you understand our reluctance to accept the Ministry's outdated attempt at matchmaking."

Granger let out an unladylike snort and he had to fight a smile that tugged at his lips when his father glared in her direction. "Can't say I've ever dreamed of joining the Malfoy family."

"My dear girl," Narcissa's voice was deadly, "it is an honor for you to be upgraded into such an ancient and respected family."

"Yes, nothing like being forced into a family of disgraced Death Eaters," Draco said before Granger could say whatever was getting ready to pour out of her mouth.

"Draco Lucius," his mother chided while his father glared.

"Let's move along this conversation, mother. There is no reason to make Hermione more uncomfortable than necessary," he responded, waving to the house elf in the corner to bring his tea. "She's picked a dress."

Narcissa pursed her lips at her only son and the corners of her mouth turned up in a false smile once more. "So I heard. That charming Daphne Greengrass told me when I went in to look at new robes for the ceremony."

"Ah, yes, the hen chatter. God forbid those damn Slytherin witches aren't spreading _some kind_ of gossip," Draco rolled his eyes and his father chuckled ever so slightly at the truth in that statement.

He looked to Hermione and she was staring at the teacup where a house elf was putting two cubes of sugar into the porcelain. The indignant look on her face would be comical if they weren't sitting with his parents who wanted nothing more than the muggle-born dead. "A simple dress for a simple girl," his mother quipped, and he raised his eyes to her in incredulity at her rudeness.

"I'm positive it will be stunning," he countered, angling himself ever so slightly toward his future wife, feeling the need to protect her already.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow and brought her own tea to her lips as a pair of house elves brought in their lunch—tomato and basil soup with a chunk of freshly baked bread. His father was drinking from a glass of whiskey slowly, watching the scene unfold with an evil, mirthful glint in his eye. Draco looked straight into his father's eyes and put his hand over where Hermione was fiddling with her spoon. He lifted the bowl and traded it for his own and his father let out a laugh. "Quit being dramatic, boy, and eat your lunch."

Hermione looked at him and back to the bowl that now sat in front of him. "Well. I can honestly say I've never had to be worried about being poisoned at lunch before," she mumbled and Narcissa joined in her husband's smug glee.

"And you don't today," the older witch told her with a wave of her hand, lifting her own spoonful of soup to her lips.

Before she had the chance to take the first bite, however, her eyes homed in on Hermione's newly adorned left hand. "Draco bought you a ring?" she asked, genuinely surprised.

"Of course I did, Mother. Why wouldn't I?" the wizard in question drawled impatiently, slamming his own spoon into the soup and folding his hands neatly in front of him, his lips set in a terse line.

"Draco, don't get cross. I'm merely surprised that you are carrying on with some of the more formal traditions in spite of the untraditional nature of the nuptials," his mother replied, taking a dainty sip of her tea.

"I've always been without a choice, haven't I? It is of little consequence which witch I am to wed. At least with Granger, I can carry a conversation about more than just shoes or diamonds," he spat, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

His parents had some nerve. Hermione was squirming uncomfortably in her seat, her eyes trained on the bowl before her, unseeing. Draco knew she had plenty to say, and it aggravated him that she was sitting there and taking the verbal lashings his parents were doling out. He put an arm around the back of her chair and poked her shoulder with his thumb. "What do you think about all of this, Granger? Would you like to attempt to make this work, despite everything, or just roll over and live a life of mere contracts and formalities?" he asked her, watching his father's eyes roam over the petite witch and come to rest on Draco's hand on her shoulder.

Hermione looked up at him with her expressive earth-toned eyes, full of quizzical apprehension. He poked her once more, encouraging her to speak. She cleared her throat and looked back to his parents. "I was always taught that one marries for love. I know that is not the case in certain families," she gestured to his parents, "but that was the truth I grew up with. The ministry has taken that ability away from me, and Draco to some extent. I fought incessantly against this law, for months on end. I never wanted this."

Lucius glared over his nose disapprovingly at the notion that she would be so unrefined as a witch to speak out. "Yes. I've heard tales of how _vocal_ you are."

"I won't apologize for having convictions, Mister Malfoy," she told him, turning her head to look at Draco. "But I agree with Draco. There is no way out of this marriage—the law is strict and binding. So, we might as well make the best of a bad situation. Perhaps, one day, we can even grow to tolerate one another."

Narcissa scoffed. "Tolerate? Tolerate what? Your muggle whimsies? Your dead-end career, which you will no doubt prioritize over raising the next heir?"

Hermione bristled angrily, and Draco could feel her magic crackle next to him. "I do not have a dead-end career. And, should I produce an _heir_ , I can assure you that the child would have my full attention and love. No need for house elves or nannies to raise my children."

"The next heir will be raised in the same pristine and unyielding manner as the last," Narcissa told her, ignoring the jab at her own clinical approach to motherhood.

"The next heir? You don't even refer to your potential grandchild as anything more than an _heir,"_ Draco piped up next to Hermione, standing abruptly.

"Don't you speak to your mother in such an obtuse manner, boy," Lucius warned, his eyes narrowing as he tapped his cane against the floor twice.

His father had always been able to intimidate him into submission. Draco had been on the receiving end of that cane and his father's wand on more than one occasion. But he was a grown man and he would no longer tolerate being threatened. "Hermione, I believe lunch is over. Why don't I walk you to the apparition point?"

The younger witch stood quickly, eager to leave the stuffy setting. "It was a pleasure to meet you both," she deadpanned with a straight face before Draco nearly shoved her toward the door.

Once outside in the warm June air, he finally felt as though he was able to breathe again. Hermione was shaking lightly next to him, still angry. "They are awful. Awful!"

His long fingers combed through his hair once more, a nervous habit. "Fuck, Granger. That was tame compared to what I expected. You didn't end up being crucio'ed," he told her and he instantly cringed as the memory of her writhing on his floor came to the forefront of his mind.

"Again," she added, stabbing a rod of guilt straight through his heart.

When he found the courage to look up at her once more, she was staring at him intently. "Thank you for standing up for me."

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "You didn't deserve that."

"Can't wait for the wedding."

Draco scoffed. "Please. There will be reporters from all of the gossip rags and the _Prophet_. My parents will be on their best behavior—couldn't have the world thinking they are still the bigoted supremacist they clearly are, could we?"

"You don't agree with their point of view?" she asked him quietly as they walked back across the gardens.

Draco didn't know what he expected, but the guarded tone of her voice certainly wasn't it. Ouch. The fact that she could even still have it in her mind that he still clung to the old ways was a painful blow to his ego and his psyche. He had tried incredibly hard, even outside of his strange courtship with Hermione Granger, to distance himself from his parents' beliefs. "No," was his simple answer.

They arrived at the gates surrounding Malfoy Manor and he walked her to the far corner. "I'll meet you at the cottage in a few hours and we can get started," he told her, feeling as though he wanted nothing more than to get away from the unfinished argument looming in his tearoom.

He leaned in to kiss Granger's cheek in a cordial fashion, and much to his surprise, she turned her face and brushed her lips against his. Draco was so bewildered that he didn't have time to respond before she pulled away. "I'll see you then," she told him with a nod before she apparated on the spot.

o-o-o


	5. Chapter 5

Draco entered the cottage to the sound of music—Muggle, he suspected, as he didn't fully recognize it. He had changed into a pair of denims and a short-sleeved t-shirt. His Mark was on full display, violent crimson against alabaster flesh. He was to wed Hermione, and he knew this was going to be one of the biggest tests in their tender forced relationship. Their consummation was bound to be a difficult enough experience without adding the drama of seeing their scars for the first time.

The wizard made his way toward the source of the music in the kitchen. Hermione was already there, wearing a pair of denim overalls and a small shirt underneath. The tanned skin of her hips was visible on either side and he raised an eyebrow at the sight. The prissy pureblood witches he was accustomed to would never have had the audacity to wear anything that showed skin. Draco had to fight the urge to reach out and touch it, his pull to her since their first kiss confusing him.

"So, what are you thinking for this room?" he asked, causing his betrothed to jump.

She swung around and held a hand to her chest. "I didn't feel you come through the wards!"

Draco shrugged, walking further into the room. "There's a lot of magic at work in this room already," he reasoned, taking in where the doors to all of the cabinets were being sanded and a couple restained by magically upright brushes.

"My vision for the entire house is to keep as much of the whimsical, storybook feel as we can. Exposed beams and weather-worn wood. The charming eccentricities are why I fell in love with this cottage to begin with," she told him, eyeing the hearth, where a small hand broom and dust pan were sweeping up all remnant of past fires. "Is—Is that okay?"

He turned his nose up for a brief moment, scrutinizing the exposed beams above them. He absolutely loathed this home, but when his eyes met hers, he knew she wanted his approval. Damn Gryffindors, always wearing their hearts on their sleeves. He lifted his left hand to brush down her arm. "Whatever you want is fine by me."

He felt her tense at the sight of his Mark, but she did not pull away or push him off of her. Instead, she looked down at it, and brought one fingertip to trace it. Draco was certain she would be able to feel his pulse, the blood thrumming below the surface of his skin, as she touched and stroked the blemish. "You know," she began, looking up at him, "I've gone all this time believing this is who you are—a Death Eater, the bigoted son of Lucius Malfoy, an evil man."

Hermione's words shouldn't have cut Draco as much as they did—he had done everything to deserve them. "But you don't any longer?" he asked, trying to mask the hurt.

She lifted her own arm, where the faint outline of the word MUDBLOOD was emblazoned on her arm. Running her thumb over the scar, she took her bottom lip between her teeth. "Do you think this is who I am?"

"Of course not," he replied, affronted by the mere insinuation.

The witch ran her delicate fingers down the length of his arm once more, stopping to pause momentarily over his forearm before winding her fingers with his. "Then you couldn't possibly be any of those things."

Draco let out a long breath and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "Draco," Hermione's voice was small, nearly being drowned out by the muggle radio, "I don't know what I am doing. And that terrifies me."

"I've never been married, either," he told her, reassuring her with what he hoped was a lighthearted tone.

"What if we don't…I mean, what if we can't…" she stuttered over her words in the most un-Granger-like manner.

"What if we aren't compatible?" he supplied.

She nodded, averting her eyes. "What if we hate each other so badly that it effects our children?"

Draco wanted to both shake and kiss the witch before him in equal parts. He had grown up with his parents, their arranged marriage never presenting the least bit of a problem in his upbringing. They had grown to love one another in a way he only hoped he and Hermione could share. "We'll have to work twice as hard to make sure that doesn't happen," he told her simply.

He stepped away from her then, the moment feeling too agonizingly intimate and looked around the kitchen once more. "What did you have in mind for upstairs?" he asked her with one quirked eyebrow.

With the tense moment past them for now, she crooked a finger and beckoned him to follow. They climbed the stairs and she led him into what was to be her bedroom. An extension charm had clearly been placed on the entire area, as it was three times the size it had been before. "I extended it some by absorbing the third bedroom. I figure we put the cot and bassinette in here when the baby is born. I don't mind sharing."

"Or, perhaps, when the baby arrives, you could stay with me in the main bedroom?" he countered, admiring the impressive bit of magic she had accomplished.

"In the same bed?" she squeaked.

"Well. I am assuming that by the time you get pregnant, we'll have shared that bed. Maybe even more than once? Unless you know of another way to get pregnant that is more sterile and less personal?" he asked, a smirk growing on his face.

Hermione considered it for a moment before opening her mouth. He put a hand up to silence her. "I know the Muggles have their ways. But honestly. Why not have a little fun in the process?"

The witch's face burned scarlet and he felt a smug satisfaction at making her squirm, since he had been squirming internally since their kiss. "Calm down, Granger. It's only sex. And it's only until you conceive. Then we can go back to ignoring the fact that we are married and of the opposite sex. You can forget my ravishing good looks, perfectly sculpted body and charming, _giving_ way of love-making."

Hermione nearly spluttered over her own saliva and Draco let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you?" she asked him, smoothing her hands over her denims.

"I know what I'm about," he shrugged, his mood sobering some at the look of distress on her face. "Hermione," he stepped in to her once more, "we don't have to do anything until you're ready. Right this second, our wedding night, three months from now, a year. We eventually have to, but I won't pressure you into it."

"Should we do a few practice rounds of that as well?" she asked, giving him an uncertain look.

Draco gave her a laugh and placed his hands on her shoulders, pushing her curls over to cascade down her back. He brought his lips to her forehead, pausing to breathe in her scent—like citrusy vanilla—a smell that comforted him, he found. "Are you completely barmy, witch?"

He backed away and held out a hand to lead her from the room. "At least let me take you to dinner, first."

"We could make dinner here," she suggested, and he felt her hand trembling within his.

"Oh, can you cook?" he questioned, pausing in the corridor outside of his bedroom.

She gave him a surprised look and her eyes grew wide. "Well. No…I'm actually a terrible cook."

Draco put his face toward the ceiling and groaned dramatically. "So, a wife who can't cook. One who also will not allow house elves into the home."

"Are your two hands broken?" she asked him challengingly.

He was enjoying the fire beginning to smolder within her, fire he had been waiting to manifest since they'd been forced together. "You wouldn't want to eat anything I made. It wouldn't even be edible."

"Well I can't cook either. We can learn together, then?" she asked as he pulled her into his room.

She had done some modifications in this room as well. "I thought you could use some more space. And…I added something for you as well," she mentioned, leading him to the back corner of a now massive area.

There was a winding staircase, leading up to the third floor. He furrowed his brow in question at her and she gave him a shy smile. Draco climbed the staircase with her right behind him. It led up to a room, not much bigger than his bathroom at the Manor. "I remembered you enjoyed potions in school. I'm sure you don't have much opportunity to work on them now, but I figured this would make a nice potions-making or reading nook for you. You could be alone here."

Along one wall, she had placed a workbench and along the other, tall wooden shelves, perfect for holding apothecary jars of the ingredients necessary to make potions. "I actually enjoy tinkering quite often," he told her, a lump forming in his throat.

"Well, now you'll have a space to do that. I won't bother you when you're up here," she mentioned.

Draco understood in that moment that this was her way of trying. She was uncertain of their future, anxious about it even. But she had told him that she would make the efforts if he did, and this was the first step. "I—thank you."

"You're welcome. I wanted your opinion of the bathroom," she said, and she took his hand and led him down the staircase once more, leaving Draco in a state of awed confusion.

o-o-o

"Mother has finished the preparations for everything—they've already begun arranging the gardens for the ceremony. I want you to see what she has done—see if you approve," Draco told her two nights before they were to be wed.

They were walking from the apparition point at the gate to the gardens for her to view the grounds. "My parents are safe to come here, right?" Hermione asked, biting her lip as they walked around to the back of the Manor.

"For the hundredth time, Granger, there is nothing to worry about. There will be enough reporters to keep my parents playing their parts diligently," he told her.

Before them were two long tables, running nearly the length of the garden. They were made of heavy wood and iron fastenings and reminded Hermione of something from the medieval times. She nearly snorted a laugh when she realized that probably wasn't too far from the truth. There were teams of house elves releasing what appeared to be will-o'-the-wisps from large jars, the glowing fairies scurrying to hide in the trees.

"And where is dear old mum and dad?" Hermione asked, watching cloths of royal purple drape themselves overhead to create a canopy.

"Out. Mother needs to have her robes fitted and father is likely spoiling her rotten with expensive jewelry she doesn't need, some with a potentially sordid past," he replied, holding his hand out for her to take.

Their last few days in their cottage had brought them closer together in ways that Hermione would never have thought possible. Draco had actually been companionable and accommodating, assisting in scouring charms and even sanding the front door the day before.

They had discussed their time at Hogwarts briefly, mostly skirting around the sore subjects and lamenting Madam Pince's need to drive them out of the library at odd hours or Draco's spot-on impression of his godfather. Their discussions had turned deeper, where they had once thought their lives were headed to where they ended up. Hermione had managed, she felt, to convince Draco that the bookstore was the right move for her—something to soothe her psyche after the distress of War.

He had told her stories from his childhood—nothing Dark or morbid, but lighter, happier memories. Hermione could see when he spoke, below the surface, there was a wretched undertone to even his happiest of times. As they grew closer, she told him of her own stories. How she had obliviated her parents and spent nearly a year restoring their memories slowly.

They stared out over the gardens, watching their wedding venue take shape and Draco sighed. "I had Bobo go to the market and pick us up a few items. I thought perhaps we could try cooking tonight?" he said, though his voice went up at the end as a question, uncertain as he was.

Hermione did not miss the underlying meaning behind his words. _At least let me take you to dinner, first._

_We could make dinner here._

"Do you want to…should we—"

"Let's just make dinner, Granger," he told her, cutting off her sputtering. "Stop trying to set dates and times for things. Let it happen naturally."

Hermione tried to steady her pounding heart, but her blood was rushing so quickly, the sound of it filled her ears. She knew she needed to get past the hurdle of physical interaction with him. His calm demeanor and the depths of their recent conversations had eased her thoughts some already. "Let's go…home?" she quirked an eyebrow at him, the word sounding foreign in her ears.

"Home," he said with a nod, a slightly bewildered look on his face as he tasted the word on his lips as well. "Bobo delivered everything to the cottage already."

A few minutes later, they were standing in their living room, staring at furniture Hermione had hand selected from antique shops all over Great Britain. There were still quite a few empty areas that she had yet to find just the right piece for, but there was enough to make the space feel significantly homier than when they had last been there.

Hermione found herself grinning broadly at the quaint home of her dreams. When she looked to Draco, he was watching her, gauging her reaction. "Do you like it?" he asked her, looking away from her to survey the curio cabinet in the corner, brimming with ancient potions making instruments and star charts written in Latin and things of the sort.

"This is all I've ever wanted. Do you?"

He looked down to where she stood. "If you like it, I like it. Everything turned out rather charming."

Hermione pulled him by the hand, brimming with excitement into the kitchen. There were fresh herbs hanging from a wooden wheel over their island, pots and pans swaying gently. There were a few muggle appliances as well, at her insistence. She went to the refrigerator and nestled within was everything they needed to make dinner. The reminder made her smile fall into a concerned frown.

"What's the matter? Do you not like—" Draco reached in and surveyed Bobo's purchases, "Lamb chops?"

"It's not that," she replied, rubbing her sweaty palm against her shirt.

The blond turned toward her and gave her a look she knew he meant to be reassuring. "It's okay. We don't have to do anything you don't want."

Hermione didn't want to admit to herself that she would be willing to give in to whatever he may have planned. If she admitted it to herself, then she would have to come to terms completely with the fact that every facet of her beliefs of the man before her had been wrong. But, as she stood there, she realized that they _had_. Draco Malfoy was nothing at all like she had believed since she had first seen him on the Hogwarts Express. After a week alone with him, learning him, she could feel admiration blooming in her heart. For the man that was to be her husband. Would that be such a bad thing?

Hesitantly, the petite witch stepped forward, with Draco watching her every move. She leaned up on her tiptoes and placed a gentle kiss to his cheek, feeling his jaw clench and unclench under her lips. She kissed down the side of his jaw lightly, her hands shaking slightly as she cupped either side of his neck. "Why don't," he turned and brushed his lips across hers, "you go and sit in the living room? I'll pour us some wine—it will steady your nerves."

Hermione pulled away, wringing her hands as he turned her and gave her a nudge in that direction. As she made the short trek to the couch, she breathed in and out a few times. They hadn't kissed fully since the first day in their kitchen. How far would he take it today? She sat on the edge of the couch, her hands on her knees and her back pin straight as she tried to calm her nerves. She hadn't been this nervous to be around a man since she had first made her feelings for Ron evident.

A few minutes passed, with no sign of Draco. Her nerves began eating her up, her lip nearly bleeding from her gnawing it raw. What was taking him so long? She could feel his magic within their wards, so she knew he hadn't left yet. She walked toward the kitchen, but stopped when she heard his voice, soft and uncertain. "Come on, Draco. You can do this. It's just Granger, for Merlin's sake. You're going to marry her."

Hermione felt her brow furrow. For all the pomp he had talked about knowing his way around a woman's body, he was giving himself a pep talk in the kitchen. The idea of this made her smile, relief flooded her nearly instantaneously. He was every bit as nervous as she. Counting her footsteps as she paced, Draco came back twenty-three steps later. She looked up at him, and he gave her a shy look, gesturing for her to sit.

Hermione sat, one leg drawn up with her back against the arm of the couch. Draco placed the glass of wine in her hand as he passed, sitting across from her and mimicking her stance. "You did a great job with the cottage, Granger. Really," he complimented her.

The witch took a long pull of her wine as he took a sip and set his glass on the table beside them. He threaded his fingers together and draped his elbow over the back of the couch. Mustering every ounce of Gryffindor courage she had left in her, she set her glass beside his and licked her lips, preparing herself for her next move.

His eyes flickered to her lips as his foot bounced anxiously on the floor. Hermione leaned forward quickly, planting her lips firmly against his. The blond wizard let out a small grunt of surprise before he brought his hands up to thread in her hair, pulling her closer to him. When she ran her hands up and under the collar of his shirt, pressing them flat against the warm skin of his shoulders, he smiled into her lips. The tip of his hot tongue traced along the seam of her lips and when they parted, his tongue pressed into her in gentle exploration.

Hermione ran her hands down, and with trembling fingers, unbuttoned the buttons of his shirt, moving so that she was straddling his thighs. Draco ran his fingertips down the smooth skin of her neck, so featherlight he may not have ever touched her, before he tucked both hands under the hem of her shirt. His hands were impossibly soft and gentle against her sides as he ran his hands over her. She leaned into him further, pressing herself against his chest when he broke the kiss. His lips dragged over her neck and clavicle, his arms wrapping around her to pull her tight.

Hermione couldn't formulate a single thought, except that this felt so right. She had kissed him to break the tension, to try and get in some last-minute practice before they were to wed. But Draco had a way of kissing her, as though he genuinely wanted nothing more. He moved with orchestrated ease, lifting her and pressing her back into the sofa's arm in one movement.

He pulled away once more, looking down at her. Hermione's heart was pounding in her chest, and she was sure it would be as rapid as the beating she felt under her palm as she ran it over his chest. "I'm sorry it's me, Granger. But I'm going to try with everything I have to make you happy," he whispered, caressing her curls as he spoke.

She hummed in response, threading her fingers into his hair. "You're not so bad," she told him, pulling his face to hers once more.

Draco took her eagerness as his cue to bring his hands down to the button and zip of her trousers. "May I?"

Hermione nodded, not having to mull it over for too long. "Try to relax," he instructed softly, kissing along the curve of her jaw. "Let's see if I can't help you along."

She thought he would remove her clothing but was instead surprised when he simply slid his hand within her knickers. The first feel of his fingers on her elicited a gasp and shudder from her. Her fingertips pressed into his bare shoulders under the cotton of his shirt. He brought his other hand to rest under her neck, kissing down over her jaw and suckling on her neck, finding a sweet spot that worked to heighten the feelings his hand was bringing her body.

A few all-too-brief minutes later, as she felt herself being brought to the edge, he lifted his face from her neck to watch her reactions to him, his lips parted. She closed her eyes as her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, her body quaking below him. He pressed his lips to hers in a chaste kiss as her grip on his shoulders lessened, her legs caging him tightly.

When she reopened her eyes, Draco's look was a mixture of his own lust, a swell of pride and perhaps a little awe. "When you are my wife, we will do this properly. But…we haven't even made dinner, yet," he told her with a lopsided grin.

The two of them broke into a fit of giggles, with Draco dropping his head to her chest as he laughed. He pushed himself off of her and rebuttoned her jeans. "I don't know about you, but I'm famished."

"That was _intense_ ," she told him, sitting up as her breathing returned completely to normal.

He held out a hand to pull her up and gave her another sweet kiss on the cheek, seemingly turning bashful once more. "Did you doubt my abilities?" he laughed once more, pulling her by the hand toward the kitchen.

"I doubted our _chemistry_ ," Hermione replied, shaking her head.

It was the truth. She had doubted their ability to mesh well enough to actually consummate a marriage. But her entire body was thrumming with the feel of him, his scent intoxicating her every sense. They were far from being in love, but they could certainly work with one another physically.

o-o-o


	6. Chapter 6

"I don't understand, Hermione, why you would ever go along with this," Pete Granger said to his daughter, a look of incredulous disappointment on his face.

"Dad, we can't keep having this argument. If I want to keep my magic, this is the conditions the Ministry has set," Hermione told her parents, her already-overbearing anxiety weighing on her as her parents piled guilt and disappointment on top of that.

They were in an empty guest room in the Manor, Hermione applying her own cosmetics as she had adamantly refused to allow Narcissa to hire someone. Ginny had offered to assist, but she wanted a little while longer with her parents—a decision she was currently regretting as they argued, one last time, about her future. Mr. Granger looked around the room, appearing completely unsettled as he took in the black marble, dark wood and ancient tomes. Hermione suspected he could feel the residual Dark magic engrained into the home, even if he did not readily understand what it was he detected.

"It's barbaric, Hermione," her mother reasoned. "You could come and live in our world once more. It wouldn't take you any time at all to catch up and go to university."

"And what? Deny who and _what_ I am? I am a _witch_ and I do not want to give that up!" she told them harshly. "And Draco is…decent."

Mr. Granger snapped his jaw closed. Hermione knew he could not argue with that. Just the night before, Draco had taken them all to dinner at a swanky Muggle restaurant and worked his charm. The witch knew her parents would have approved of him, under other circumstances. Trying to remember that they had her best interests at heart, she sighed. "Look, I'm marrying Draco. That is already decided—I have no desire to live as a Muggle. At least not entirely. Getting rid of my magic would feel like—like losing an appendage. Or half of my heart, it's so engrained in me."

"It is unfair of these heathens to force you into an arranged marriage," her father said bitterly.

"Don't ever use the word 'heathen' around me—it's no better than 'mudblood,'" Hermione corrected her father crossly, her patience wearing thin.

"What kind of people force others into marriage?" her mother argued, looking around the room, careful to keep her hands to herself for fear of being cursed.

"People who are desperate to keep their population alive and strong. This is not my fault and it's not Draco's either. We were placed into this unfortunate situation together, and he has been trying to make it as pleasant as possible," Hermione argued, trying to defend her intended bridegroom.

Her mother sighed behind her and began plaiting her tamed curls loosely. In the reflection of the vanity mirror, Hermione could see tears slickening her cheeks. She felt a stab of guilt for what her parents must be feeling to watch their only daughter being married off against her will. And to a man they had only met the night before but had heard terrible stories about for years.

There was a knock at the door and Bobo opened it. "Miss Hermione, Master Draco is waiting for you. It's time. Bobo is to take the Muggles to the garden."

Hermione stood from her seat as her father gazed at the creature, still in disbelief though he had been escorted into the room by the same house elf. Over the year it had taken Hermione to bring her parents memories back, they had been indoctrinated into the world of magic. They had drunk potions she had brewed, she had performed complicated magic on their minds, sometimes with the assistance of Hannah Abbott, who had studied Healing magic. They had gotten mildly more comfortable around magic. But they were equal parts horrified and fascinated being within the belly of the dark beast.

Her mother turned to her, her lip trembling and nodded. "If you really want to do this, then we can't stop you. Please give this another thought, Hermione."

"You have other options," her father told her, kissing her forehead.

Her mother grabbed her into a death grip of a hug before Bobo shifted impatiently. "Master Draco is waiting."

Her parents gave her one last strained, fearful look before they followed the house elf out. Ginny stepped into the room once her parents had taken their leave. "Are you okay, 'Mione?" she asked, uncertain.

Hermione's heart was beating rapidly, and she had an overwhelming sense of dread and angst. She and Draco had gotten significantly closer, not so much strangers as forced acquaintances who sometimes snogged and fondled one another. But she was still apprehensive about actually marrying him. The niggling thought that he was only acting like this to get her to agree to marriage weighed at the back of her brain. Hermione knew she did not have much of a choice, but she swallowed down the negativity as she held out hope that Draco was going to be the good man he appeared to be, putting her first and trying with all of his might to make her life easier.

The brunette witch shrugged and could feel her lip quiver. "It's not as bad as it _could_ be. I know I'm lucky—at least Draco is not anything like his father."

"I've been paired," Ginny stated simply, looking up at her friend. "Blaise Zabini."

"Guess we both got sent to the snake pit, huh," Hermione tried to tease, though her nerves were tearing her up.

"Harry, too. With Pansy," Ginny said sadly.

"Yeah…but Ron got _Cho_ ," Hermione chuckled, nudging the redhead with her shoulder.

Ginny sniffed lightly and laughed as well. "True. She's a total basket case."

Hermione smoothed her hands over her dress, her nerves making her nauseated. Ginny ran her hands over her plait, tugging out a loose curl or sticking a stray strand here and there. "Well, come on. It's time for you to become the next Lady Malfoy," the redhead told her, her grin only half-hearted.

The bride left the room and walked down the stairs with great care, so as to not trip and fall down thirty stairs. There were already two journalists from the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly_ there, quick quotes quills flying and cameras flashing. The sight of them made her stomach turn over. "Breathe, 'Mione," Ginny reminded from the side of her mouth.

Hermione did her best to ignore the door to the drawing room as she made her way out, knowing that a full-fledged panic attack would be detrimental to her already delicate mental health. When they made it to the doors and Hermione caught sight of the gardens for the first time since her arrival, she stopped in her tracks. She and Draco had agreed to keep it very intimate and private, and yet, there was nearly two hundred people sitting in rows of chairs.

Had Draco sweet talked her to get her to this point and then he and his parents had gone against her wishes and done what they wanted? Hermione was certain she would vomit. She turned to go back into the Manor, but saw the journalists eyeing her curiously. "I have to go," she whispered to Ginny, her eyes darting around to try and find an inconspicuous place to hide while she gathered herself.

"Go? Go where? You're getting ready to get married!" Ginny nearly shrieked.

The younger witch's voice sounded as though it were underwater as Hermione's ears began to ring dangerously. All of the emotions of the past two weeks began to flood her all at once and she felt like her knees would begin to buckle. Her eyes scanned the crowd and landed on her betrothed standing at the side of the gardens. Draco appeared to be in a heated argument with his parents. He gestured to the crowds of people behind him and his mother looked to be attempting to placate him. It appeared that he had not approved of the guest list either. _Thank Merlin._ He was being true to his word, if the genuine look of agitation on his face was anything to go by.

Hermione saw a clear path leading behind some rose bushes alongside where everyone was sitting, and she darted toward it. The flash of her dress caught Draco's eye and he turned his attention to her. The witch clutched her dress up in her hands and picked up her pace as easily as she could in the heels Ginny had selected.

Her head was spinning, her breathing forced. She was at a wedding, _her_ wedding. Draco Malfoy was going to be her husband. The moment was finally coming, and now that it was, she could not fight it. All of the time she and Draco had spent together had been wonderful, but she was not ready to face all of the people sitting in attendance and pretend to be in love with him.

She finally stopped running when she was deep enough into the maze that the sounds of the string quartet were muted and faint. Her fingertips pawed at her cheeks, wiping away tears that she had not realized were falling. Footsteps sounded in the grass behind her and Hermione felt him come to rest behind her.

"I'm sorry my mother went overboard. I told her to get everyone out of here. _Now_ ," came the smooth voice of her soon-to-be husband. "Only the officiant, she and my father, your parents, Ginny and Ronald Weasley and Potter are to remain. The camera boy, too, since we need _something_ in the paper to correct the spectacle that is currently taking place."

"How do you know she'll do that?" Hermione asked, feeling foolish as the tears continued.

"Because I told her if they weren't gone in the next five minutes I would apparate you and the officiant to the cottage and marry in complete privacy away from _everyone_ ," Draco told her with a slight chuckle at his manipulation.

Hermione felt his hand on her back and he stepped around her to face her. "That's not the only thing bothering you, is it?" he asked, wiping the mascara from her cheeks.

His finger bent under her chin to raise her face so she was looking at him and his features were anguished. Again, Hermione was reminded that he was placed into the same set of harsh circumstances and that he had pledged his attention and devotion to their marriage already. "I would love to tell you that you don't have to do this. But we both know you have no choice," he lamented, pushing loose curls toward her plait. "I'm sorry about this. All of it."

Hermione noted that Draco spent more time apologizing than any one man should ever have to, especially when the circumstances were beyond his control. She suspected that he was apologizing for more than just their current predicament, and it tore at her in an unexpected way. "Please stop apologizing all the time."

Draco's mouth clipped shut and he swallowed hard. Hermione gathered all of the courage she had, trying to steady her nerves and quell the crying. She put her hands to his face, smooth beneath her touch. "We don't have a choice. And I am absolutely terrified. But…we'll learn."

"Together," he vowed.

He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. Hermione's nerves began to ebb ever so slightly as she stood in his presence. Draco had a way of saying the right thing or making her feel like her feelings and thoughts mattered to him. She was trying her best to allow her heart to trust him, as difficult a task as it was. He had given her every reason to, but they had known each other cordially for such a short amount of time. Hermione felt as though her emotions were all over the place, scattered like puzzle pieces. And slowly but surely, Draco was putting them back together, one piece at a time.

Hermione leaned forward and kissed him, trying to convey what she felt inside—it was not he that scared her. It was simply the unknown factors of their future, of who _they_ were as a couple. Her kiss knocked his balance off ever so slightly and a rose bush of cabbage-sized pink roses caught him. It was growing darker as they stood in the labyrinth, their faces only illuminated by the scarce light of a setting sun, a crescent moon and the stray will-o'-the-wisp hiding amidst the shrubbery.

Draco slid his hands up her arms and delicately pried her hands from where they clutched his shoulders. He pulled back and then pecked her lips, one, twice more before giving her a slight smile. "Let's get married. Then we can go home and get out of these clothes," he told her.

Her eyes grew wide and he caught sight of them in the moonlight and gave a breathy chuckle. "I meant because they're uncomfortable. Your family should come past and spend a few minutes with you—I will not stay here a moment longer than necessary."

She gave a slight nod and a half-smile and took ahold of his hand. As he led them out of the maze of briar bushes and flowers, her nerves began once more. His seemed to as well, because his hand in hers tightened ever so slightly. The thought that he was as anxious as she helped to calm her in a strange way. They really would face their coerced life together. Hermione felt the strange cocktail of her emotions once more, all battling to rise to the surface.

"Let's just get this over with," Draco said from beside her as they emerged into the now empty back gardens.

Narcissa Malfoy looked radiantly livid. "Draco Lucius. That was wrong of you to do to all of those people!" she chided as they drew close.

"It was wrong of you to invite them all to begin with, Mother. We discussed exactly what Hermione and I had decided. An intimate and small wedding of our closest friends and a couple of people from the Ministry. Not two hundred people we can't stand to be around anyway," Draco told her, stepping around her to walk toward the archway.

Professor Flitwick was standing under the archway, a book clutched in his hand. Narcissa hissed her disapproval at his tone as his father put a hand on her shoulder. "Draco, this is not over."

Hermione was eyeing her own parents, standing by the archway, looking scared out of their minds at being alone in the gardens with little more than three Malfoys, a goblin and her three friends. Harry and Ron both looked wholly unhappy with the entire circumstance, though they stood silently by to watch, both knowing they would soon be facing the exact same fate. A young wizard sat in the very back, a camera in his hands, ready to photograph the moments his counterpart had been forced to leave. Draco moved to stand in front of her slightly in a protective stance and looked from where his father's hand clutched his cane and up to his face.

"What are you going to do, Father? Flog me in front of our _guests_?" he asked calmly, and Hermione heard an underlying venom.

His father glared down at him and Hermione shrank back on his behalf. "Shall I ask Professor Flitwick to go to the cottage and marry us then? Or will you calm down enough to get through the next five minutes?" he asked his mother.

Narcissa glanced in the direction of the photojournalist and back at her son, her mouth pressed into a thin line. She simply nodded once and Hermione felt the hate and discontent rolling off of the elder witch as she passed. "Bobo," Draco called and the house elf appeared. "Take heaping platefuls of food and cake to our cottage. Enough for our guests as well."

The house elf nodded nervously, eyeing Narcissa and Lucius. Draco pulled her forward once more and came to rest before Flitwick. "Well, now that your grand entrance has been all mucked up, how about we get this over with quickly?"

Hermione gave him a simple nod and placed her hand into his, clasping his wrist. There would be no flowery, eloquent vows—they were not in love. Only a long passage read in Latin as Flitwick ran his wand over their arms and said the bonding charm. Just as Hermione had requested the night before when Draco had asked if she wanted him to prepare an elaborate speech.

As Flitwick spoke, a golden thread, illuminated brilliantly, began to unravel from his wand, wrapping around their hands and arms. As the half-goblin spoke, words that Hermione would have readily soaked in at any other time if her ears weren't ringing dangerously loudly, she dared to peek up at Draco.

"Mr. Malfoy—the ring?" Flitwick prompted.

The blond wizard met her gaze and gave her an empathetic half-smile. "I'm going to take care of you. We'll be okay," he whispered encouragingly, sliding a diamond studded band onto her finger to rest with the ruby he had previously given her.

Hermione gave him a single nod of her head and a small smile of her own. He had stood up to his parents for her, on multiple occasion. She had no doubt in her mind that he was in fact going to hold true to his word to put her first and foremost in his life. Ginny came to stand next to her, handing her the simple platinum band she had purchased for Draco. She slid the ring onto his waiting finger as he watched, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

The camera flashed behind her, capturing the moment and Flitwick's incantations came to an end. "You'll need to kiss," he mentioned awkwardly.

"Let's piss them off even further," Draco whispered as the golden threads disappeared into their arms.

He had a defiant, mischievous look in his eye as he stepped forward and placed his hands on either side of her face. Hermione felt a true smile tug at her lips as they pressed against his and she wrapped her arms around his neck. _Perhaps with a bit less tongue, Granger. Keep it clean in front of my parents._ Draco apparently had forgotten the words he had spoken to her upon their first kiss, because he slid his tongue along her mouth and deepened the kiss eagerly, ignoring his mother's scandalized gasp. The boy with the camera's finger must have been moving a mile a minute as the flashes illuminated the couple.

And Hermione knew he had captured a genuine moment of solidarity between she and her new husband.

o-o-o


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Contains mildly awkward smut towards the end. Skip if not for you.

"Thank you for taking the time to visit us in our new home," Draco told the Grangers as they stepped to the floo to make their way home.

He had spent the entire night, trying to show the Grangers that he was more than his parents. The night before, he had taken them out and attempted to charm them, but today, they had been short with him, glaring at him at every turn, as though it were his fault that he and Hermione had gotten stuck in this predicament. Draco had been nothing but polite and answered their questions truthfully as they interrogated him about his entire life, livelihood and intentions. Hermione had tried to speak up for him, about he how he had changed since maturing, but her mother had stared at him, tight-lipped until stepping close to the floo.

"I just want you to know, I feel this practice to be completely barbaric. My daughter should have the right to _choose_ her spouse," her mother told him, her eyes piercing into his very soul. "But you seem to have a decent head on your shoulders. And you've shown nothing but respect for my Hermione."

"What my wife is trying to say, is that we understand that you are also in the same position. And despite your shaky history, you seem to have grown into a respectable man. But, if you hurt my daughter, you'll meet my Peacemaker," Mr. Granger threatened.

Draco had no idea what his "peacemaker" was, but the threatening tone with which he spoke made him feel as though he did not want to find out at any time in the near future. Hermione returned from the kitchen, wielding two giant casserole dishes of leftover reception food and wedding cake. "Can you not threaten my husband? I'll let you know if a gun is necessary in the future," she told her father with a taut, dry smile.

Her father sighed and kissed her forehead. "This is all just so surreal for us, you must understand."

"For me as well. Not exactly the life I imagined for myself," Hermione countered, looking up at Draco. "But not the worst possible outcome either."

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted on one side in what he hoped was a congenial smile. "I'll take that as a compliment, all things considered."

Mrs. Granger gave him the first small smile of the night and extended her arms to give her daughter a hug. "If there's anything you need, you call us. And don't be a stranger—come 'round for tea once in a while."

She turned to Draco and finally conceded, grabbing him into a tight hug as well. He was wholly unprepared for such affection, especially having been scowled at for the better part of the last two hours. But he returned the sentiment and looked to Hermione who was smiling slightly. "Take care of our girl," her mother implored before letting him go and dabbing at her eye. "I hope this works out for the two of you."

With that, her parents stepped into the fireplace and Hermione tossed a handful of sparkling green powder in after them, stating their address. Draco stared at the place her parents had vacated, a frown on his face. Hermione stood next to him and put a hand on his arm. "They like you."

"Like me?" he scoffed. "They looked at me as though I were the most repugnant dung beetle this side of Egypt!"

"They were sizing you up, my father especially. The idea of an arranged marriage is pretty archaic in Muggle England these days. But, they invited us for tea, so it's a start," she told him, her voice strained as she gave him a tight smile.

Draco could not help but think she was being forcefully optimistic, but he did not have it in him to argue. She knew her parents better than he—he only wished he did not have to face her father's threats any time soon. Hermione led the way to their living room, where Potter and the two Weasleys still sat. Weasley was looking around their home and frowning deeply. Though Draco had initially hated this home for its small size and gaudy, storybook furnishings, Hermione took pride in it and he felt annoyed with Weasley's wandering eyes. "Blimey, in two weeks, you've managed to get your letters, buy a house and get married," he commented.

Next to Draco, Hermione smiled widely. "I've wanted this house since the first time I ever laid eyes on it."

The blonde's heart and ego swelled with pride at the reverent tone his new wife spoke with, with the knowledge that he had done something right for her. He smirked slightly at the withering look on Weasley's face. "Cho's done nothing but cry every time I've seen her since receiving our letters. It's worse than when Cedric died."

"Anyone who had to marry you would weep themselves to sleep every night," his sister retorted, downing the last of the wine in her glass.

Draco eyed the redheaded witch with an appreciation for her wit and the ease with which she insulted her brother. Perhaps, the two of them would get along famously. Ron shot her a glare. "What about you and Zabini, then?"

"We had lunch this afternoon and he was a perfect gentleman," Ginny stated, shrugging.

Draco snorted into his glass of red wine. "Blaise Zabini is anything but a gentleman."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Potter asked, narrowing his eyes at Draco.

"She's in for a wild ride, is all I'm saying," Draco said with a devilish smirk and Potter bristled while the witch in question got a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

She and Blaise would work out just fine. "What about you, Potter? I had a particularly irate Pansy Parkinson screeching like a banshee in my back gardens a couple of weeks ago."

Potter paled even further and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose before ruffling his ridiculously unkempt hair. "We met at the Parkinson Estate to sign the prenuptial yesterday. Pansy wanted a lavish wedding, but her parents felt it would be more appropriate to keep such an aggrievance out of the papers. We'll get married at the Ministry, after hours, with only her parents there to witness."

Draco draped an arm around the back of the couch where Hermione was sitting. "We're not doing so bad, eh, Granger?"

"Apparently not," she agreed and Weasley's eyes narrowed in on them once more.

"We should probably get going," he announced to the room at large.

Evidently, the Weasel was tired of watching his ex navigate her fresh marriage without a hint of contempt. They all stood and walked toward the floo, with Weasley frowning and Potter looking perturbed with his own pending nuptials. Pleasantries were exchanged and the two males gave him glowering looks as Ginny and Hermione giggled about something he was not privy to.

Once they were alone, for the first time since they had been married, a palpable tension settled around them. Draco, typically not a nervous individual when it came to members of the opposite sex, was finding his heart beating rather quickly in his chest. Perhaps it was the prospect of being with her in a husband capacity—there was no more dropping her as a sexual partner if he was dissatisfied as he had done to so many witches in the past, no getting out of bed before she woke to slink away, no more philandering with women he took a liking to when out on business dinners.

Hermione was gnawing at her bottom lip, seemingly thinking about the same prospects as he. How in the hell would he be able to comfort his wife, when his own nerves were eating him alive? Draco placed a hand on her back, where her wedding dress began. She had magicked the bottom into a cocktail style dress as they had entertained guests. At the feel of his hand on her bare skin, she flinched and looked at him.

Her features were furrowed with anxiety and her lip was between her teeth, plumping tantalizingly as she bit it. "I've told you all along, we don't have to do anything you aren't prepared for."

"Waiting won't accomplish anything. My nerves will just build up even more," Hermione reasoned.

"But if we waited, we would get to know one another a little better."

"Yes, but what if we hate each other? That would just make it harder. At least, right now, we're on speaking terms," the witch told him, huffing an anxious laugh.

Draco's heart was racing in its cage as he brought his hand from her back to graze down her bare arm and laced his fingers with hers. "We'll stop. If at any point you are uncomfortable, we'll stop. No questions asked."

Hermione nodded and led him by the hand through their house, stopping to retrieve an unopened bottle of red wine and two clean glasses. Gripping the bottle in his free hand as she held the glasses by the stems, he took her hand once more. "Your room or mine?" he asked in a conversational tone, as though his entire life was not about to change.

"Could we go to mine? The familiarity may help me," she told him as they reached the top landing of the stairs.

Draco led them to her room and hesitated outside of her door for a moment. It was a moment too long as she dropped his hand and opened the door for herself. The room was entirely Hermione Granger. Bookshelves lined every inch of the walls, already sagging with hundreds of tomes. The bed was covered with a sunny yellow spread and the room was airy, tidy, feminine.

"I've been collecting books for a while, that way I have some inventory when I open my shop," Hermione said by way of explanation.

Draco nodded and glanced around once more before his gaze fell on the bed before them. Hermione placed the glasses on the table and retrieved the bottle from him, popping it open with a tap of her wand. Hermione poured them two healthy servings and then handed him a glass, her eyes gazing at him over the rim of hers.

"Why don't we just sit for a moment?" he asked, gesturing toward the bed.

She nodded and sat on the edge of the bed. Draco tipped his glass back and downed it all quickly in the most unaristocratic of ways. Placing the glass on her nightstand her crouched in front of her, bringing his hands to the ridiculously un-Granger heels she wore. With nimble fingers he unbuckled each shoe on his knee and tucked them neatly under the bed, stalling. Merlin. He'd fucked hundreds of witches, and this _one_ was going to be the one to make him feel like he was fifteen again, in the Slytherin Common Room, fondling Pansy Parkinson clumsily.

Draco saw a tub of lotion on her vanity and accio'ed it to himself. Removing his suit coat, he knelt on the floor before her once more and opened the tub. A brief glance up at her face told Draco that Hermione was watching him astutely, her lips parted slightly, her hands clutching her glass tightly. He took a dollop of lotion and began kneading it into the sole of her foot. "Just try to relax," he told her softly, his words contradicting his own feelings.

"I don't know why I'm so bloody nervous. I've had sex before…just…it's been a while," she admitted, her sentences coming out choppy.

He nodded his understanding, rubbing a spot on her foot that had clearly been throbbing in her heels as she let out a small moan at the feel. The sound made his groin twitch and he looked up at her. She covered her mouth in horror and he laughed. "So, you like to make sexy little noises, hmm?" Draco teased, trying to break some of the tension.

His comment made Hermione laugh and he grinned up at her as he did the same to her other foot. His hands dragged the silky lotion up and over her calves and soon, he was massaging and kneading her thighs below the hem of her dress. She set her glass on the bedside table and leaned back on her palms, watching his hands disappear and reappear from under the hem of her dress.

Draco skimmed his nose along the inside of one knee and placed a gentle kiss there. Hermione brought her hand to push his hair away from his forehead and he leaned his cheek on her knee to look up at her. "Are you ready?"

She stared for a long moment, her chest growing flush, and finally nodded. Draco crawled up over her legs and leaned over her, bringing his lips to press firmly against hers. Hermione stiffened momentarily before bringing trembling hands to his chest. Her lips, soft and already swollen from her worrying, moved against his with uncertainty. He brought his hand to rest on her waist, propping himself up on his other.

Draco had removed his tie when they had gotten home earlier in the night, his top two buttons already open. As he brought his tongue to glide along her plump lip, Hermione ran her hands under the collar of his shirt to touch his scorching hot skin below. Her hands were warm and firm against him and he could feel his body reacting to just the modest amount of contact.

His fingers went behind her back to unbutton the silk buttons one at a time. Her dress came open and his fingers grazed along her bared skin. Hermione hummed into his mouth as she pulled the sleeves from her shoulders. Draco undid the buttons on his own shirt and shrugged it off, tossing it to the floor. She pulled back and looked over the creamy skin now exposed to her, an appreciative sparkle in her eye. Draco could feel a smirk beginning to bloom as she looked him over until she pulled the bodice of her gown down and her own radiant body came into view.

Hermione lifted her hips slightly as she shimmied out of the gown fully and tossed it to the side in a heaping puff. Clad only in a small pair of red knickers, she placed her hands on his shoulders once more. Draco raised his hands and plucked pins from her hair, unleashing a mane of wild curls. He gave them a shake to loosen them and laughed, kissing her once more as he pushed her back to nestle into her soft down comforter. When Draco pulled away from her to look down at her, her hair was fanned out sexily around her heart-shaped face and he groaned slightly at the sight. Damn, Granger looked good and he silently mourned all of the years he could have wooed her instead of instigated fights.

When Hermione brought her hands to his belt buckle, she hesitated and he raised one eyebrow. "Go on, little lioness, gather your Gryffindor courage," he teased, though he backed away from her slightly, giving her space.

Instead of unbuckling his belt, she shoved both hands into his hair and pulled his head swiftly down to kiss him bruisingly once more. Her legs caged his waist and she rolled her hips up to grind sinuously against him. Draco groaned and lowered down to rest on one forearm, his hand running over every inch of her smooth skin. She arched into his touch and her pert nipples rubbed against his bare chest, sending a shiver down his spine.

He pulled away from her kiss and stood up, reaching for his own belt buckle. Her eyes widened a fraction and he felt a sting of guilt. "Are you sure about this?" he questioned.

All of the blood in his brain had rushed south and he was now hoping she would not back out. He stilled his ministrations on his trousers and looked at her severely. Hermione looked from the bulge in his trousers to his face and nodded slowly. "It's just…let's slow down some."

_Morgana's saggy tits._ His groin ached already but he breathed out a slow breath. "Of course. Let me just take these off—to ease the, er—tension."

Hermione giggled at him and he glared slightly at her though he felt some relief without the thick fabric pressing against him. She eyed his naked body with curiosity, her eyes skimming over his scars and landing on his stiff erection. Draco pulled back her covers and sat back against the headboard. Guilt washed over him and he frowned at his own behaviors. Fuck. He had ruined everything already and they had been married all of three hours.

Hermione seemed to notice the change in his mood and she crawled the two feet to where he sat. Finding some of her courage, she turned and sat in front of him, her back close to his chest. "What you were doing earlier, to my legs…could you do that to my shoulders?" she asked slyly, and Draco quirked an eyebrow.

This was so painfully awkward and he wished he knew what to do or say to make it less so, to quell her nerves. Draco drew his hands over her hips and sides, bringing them to run circles on her back, kneading out the tension knots that had no doubt tied in the last couple of weeks. Her hair was a thick curtain down her back and he pulled the curls over one shoulder, an errant one or two springing back to its rightful place.

His hands found her shoulders, rubbing and running in the same circular fashions he had used on her legs. She closed her eyes and leaned back into his touch. He moved the hand from her free shoulder to her side and brought his lips to suckle at the freckled skin there. A moan escaped her lips and she brought a hand up to fist into his hair as he nipped and bit at the place where her neck swept into her shoulder. Her hips wiggled against him and he breathed out sharply at the feel. The scratchy fabric of her lace knickers scraped against him and he had to palm his groin and stifle a groan.

Hermione tilted her face at an angle to kiss him over her shoulder, one hand grabbing his hair in a fist and the other running over his thigh. Draco's entire body felt like it was on fire and he tried to think of anything but the way every inch of their connected skin and bodies made him react. He started listing all of the Quidditch teams in alphabetical order, trying desperately to pace himself so as to not startle her again.

Her hesitance worried him, and he wondered if she was truly ready or not. His mind silently cursed the Ministry for their enforced laws and ancient methods of repopulation. Hermione's tension seemed to be melting off of her shoulders as he massaged her, and she leaned back into him within a few minutes. "Touch me," she instructed softly.

"You're absolutely sure?"

Hermione took his hand from her side and slide it down over her abdomen to rest over those infernal knickers of hers. Her insistence made him feel somewhat better and he brought his lips to kiss her shoulder one more as his other hand caressed the soft mound of her breast. He eased her thighs apart with his hand and ran a finger over where the lace was already damp. His fingers ran over the fabric, the slippery, coarse material creating a barrier between their flesh.

Hermione's hand clutched his thigh harshly and her other held his wrist tightly as he ran his fingers over her. His other hand pinched her taut nipples, creating a pleasurable pained sensation that caused her back to arch into his touch. She rocked her hips against his hand, creating friction. Draco had an excellent view over her shoulder of both of his hands touching her and he felt himself stiffen further and poke into her lower back. He may very well die if she decided to stop at this point.

When her legs began to shake and her grip on him began to tighten, her breaths falling in pants, she suddenly swatted his hand away from her. Draco nearly growled in protest before she rose to her knees. She tapped his legs, so he would close them and then straddled them, her back still to him. Her hand pumped him twice before she pulled her knickers to the side and went to lower herself onto him. Hermione hesitated only until his hands went to her hips and she glided down over him.

The feel of it made them both release a hiss of satisfaction. She was leaning forward with her hands braced on his knees, her hips moving in a way that made him lose all coherent thought. His hands gripped her hips tightly as she moved and his head fell back with a thick _thud_ against the headboard. When she leaned up once more, his forehead fell between her shoulder blades and he lightly kissed down the column of her spine. Draco's hand went back to its earlier ministrations and slipped under her underwear to finally come into direct contact with her. Rubbing circles over her as she controlled the up and down movement of her hips, he licked and tasted her skin. "Make some of those sexy little noises, Granger. Let me know what you like."

Hermione was panting, a purr at the back of her throat, a string of curse words that would have normally made her blush falling from her lips. The slick warm feel of her was one of the most delicious feelings he had ever experienced, tight and clenching around him.

Draco hugged her around the middle, holding Hermione close to himself as her movements became erratic and her breathing hitched. Her body was trembling while she held still. Her walls clenched tightly around him and Draco bucked his hips, reminding her that he was still rock hard and she huffed a laugh before beginning her slow-paced bouncing once more. It wasn't long before he followed behind her, staring at the delectable view of the curve of her arse as she rode him.

Draco's arms held her tightly in place as he came and he dropped his forehead to her slick back to catch his breath. He planted a trail of kisses against her as she collapsed back against him, pulling her legs forward one at a time before lifting off of him and sitting between his legs with hers pressed together.

Hermione reached over and pulled the blanket up and over them as the palm of his hand ran soothing circles over her legs. "At least if we're forced to do this, we can rest assured that we're good at it," she told him, causing him to laugh heartily.

"Once we get going—not bad," he teased, resting his chin on her shoulder. "Would you like me to go to my room now?"

She turned her face to kiss his cheek and smiled against his jaw. "Not yet. Just lie with me a few minutes more. I'd feel less like a kept woman."

At that, Draco laughed a loud, booming laugh and buried his face in her hair. With this hurdle out of the way, he was curious to see where their life together would lead from here.

o-o-o


	8. Chapter 8

A shaft of pale moonlight filtered through Hermione's window and illuminated Draco's hair like a halo around his head. His searching silvery eyes watched her intently as she tucked her face into her pillow. They had sex. They had _actually_ had sex. She had had sex with _Draco Malfoy._ She was _married_ to Draco Malfoy. The thought made her heart flutter and a heat rise up through her chest and bloom across her face. They had moved out of their embrace to lay beneath her bedding, facing one another. Other than a few hushed sentiments, they had remained quiet.

"What is going on in the mind of yours, Granger?" the blond wizard asked, dragging his fingertips along her bare arm and tickling along her shoulder.

"This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to me in my life," she replied slowly, feeling surprised at being so comforted in his presence.

"Having sex with me was that strange?" he teased. "And to think—you fought the Dark Lord, turned a woman into a beetle and found out you were a witch after believing the entire thing nonsense for the first eleven years of your life. But having sex with me was the cherry on top of a crazy, adventure filled life. You really know how to play at a man's confidence."

Hermione huffed a laugh and scooted slightly closer to him. "You know that's not what I meant. It's just…we were enemies at one point, staring at each other from opposing sides. We fell out of touch and then, a few years later, we're suddenly to be married."

Draco raised a pale eyebrow and an amused grin crossed his face. "And?"

He could sense there was more, his incredible knack for perception was something that Hermione was beginning to admire—and scorn. He was able to pick up on her subtle cues—ones she did not even know she was giving off—almost as though he could read her mind at times. "And…well…you're nothing like I thought you'd be."

"A hateful and tempestuous bastard who still upheld the archaic belief that you are in some way inferior to me? That your life with me would be filled with abusive vernacular and constant ridicule for your blood status, wild hair and swotty attitude? That I would just cast you aside as my wife, ashamed to be seen in public with you since you aren't the picture of pureblood sophistication?" he challenged, and Hermione could tell she had invariably struck a sensitive chord with him.

She raised her hand to place it on his jaw, a gesture that, despite their recent activities, still felt dangerously intimate. She went to pull it back and he put his own hand over it. "You'll learn. One day. You'll learn that I'm not the enemy anymore."

With that, he kissed her palm and slid out of the bed. He said that phrase so often, she felt terrible even believing him to be the person he had once been. He scooped up his wedding attire and left the room with a quiet "goodnight." Hermione lay in bed, angry with herself for saying anything at all.

They were having such a private and close moment, the first as husband and wife and she had ruined it. Hermione realized that she had a long way to go in overcoming her own prejudices, that he was trying his very best to make her happy, no matter the cost. She _had_ acknowledged this, but their intimacy still dredged it to the forefront of her mind.

The sky grew lighter outside and it was around four in the morning when she decided she could not take the painful thoughts swirling about in her head a moment longer. Her compassionate and caring nature was drowning her with guilt at having hurt his feelings. Hermione swung her legs over the side of the bed and looked at her discarded clothing around the room. Kicking at the puffy taffeta and lace of her dress, she crossed the room to pull on a bathrobe, making a mental note to perhaps buy one that _didn't_ have fraying cuffs.

She padded softly down the corridor the short distance to his room. There was a dim light filtering from under the door and she instinctively knew he was still awake, perhaps reading in bed. Hermione gently rapped her knuckles against the wood and listened for any indication that he was bidding her enter. He said nothing, and she heard no movement from behind the door. "Draco?" she called quietly, placing her ear to the wood of the door.

Still there was silence. Deflated and a little hurt that he was obviously ignoring her, perhaps pretending to be asleep, she walked away. Hermione needed to busy her shaking hands and clear her mind, so she decided to head downstairs to get started on a simple breakfast. She had absolutely no idea what time Draco rose for the day, if he intended to head into work, or what his usual routine consisted of. It was still dark enough outside that she had to illuminate her wand to maneuver through the house.

Bobo had gone to the market and stocked the home with a few of the staples Hermione had requested. She collected a set of bowls and mixing spoons, lest she go back upstairs and knock more forcefully on his door. One thing Hermione hated was being in the midst of an argument with anyone, particularly someone she was meant to be getting along with.

She pulled out all of the ingredients she needed to begin baking cinnamon scones. The witch was terrible at cooking, but she hoped that perhaps she could back something decent enough to be edible for once. Following the thought thread that she did not truly know her husband, Hermione wondered if Draco even liked cinnamon scones.

She began mixing ingredients into the bowl by hand and there was a creaking on the floorboards above her head. Her heart raced as she traced the sound of his light footfall down the stairs, deafening in the otherwise silent house. Grabbing the ball of dough from the bowl and spreading it on the floured countertop, Hermione breathed in and out slowly as she felt Draco move behind her. He crossed the room and leaned forward on the countertop next to where she worked. "I thought you couldn't cook."

"I'm _baking_ ," she corrected, rolling the dough out.

"What are you _baking_ , then?" he questioned looking over her arm at the pile of cinnamon scented dough.

"Scones. I hope you like them," she replied in a clipped tone, and he put his hand over hers to still them.

"We need to talk," he implored, touching her hip and giving her a gentle nudge so she would look at him.

Hermione pulled her hands away and clasped them in front of her, sticky with sugar and cinnamon. Draco shifted his weight from one foot to the other and licked his lips. "I do not want to fight with you. Neither one of us has any fucking idea what we're doing right now, but I know I don't want to go to work with unresolved anger between us."

Hermione dropped her eyes to look at his bare chest, the jagged Sectumsempra scar that stretched across his torso. "I didn't mean it the way it came out," she admitted quietly.

"I know this. It's just—sometimes reminders of my past are uncomfortable and painful. And the last thing I want is my wife to doubt who I am now. Who I _will_ be. Who I _was_ is not a good indicator of either."

Hermione knew in her heart that what he was saying was true—he had shown the depth of his change time and again since she had first stepped foot onto the property of Malfoy Manor to discuss their nuptials. "You're a good man, Draco," she told him, her voice still barely above an audible whisper. "I can see that. It's just…you _aren't_ who I always assumed you were. You're intelligent and witty, caring and protective, sweet and giving. I feel overwhelmed by everything, if I'm being perfectly honest. The others—they aren't even married to their intended matches yet, and they're already fighting amongst themselves."

Draco shrugged, his fingertips pressing lightly into her side, averting his eyes as her compliments washed over him. "I hope we can form an even stronger bond, one that may grow into love. Not only for our children's sake, but for our own as well. It's awfully lonely at night, knowing my wife is just down the hall and I can't go to her."

"You can always come to me!" Hermione chided lightly, stepping in closer to him and placing her hand over his pulse point. "I say the wrong thing often enough, but I'm trying just as much as you are."

There were a few awkward beats between them, where the only noise was their quiet breaths and the sound of the muggle clock ticking on the kitchen wall. A smirk began to bloom on Draco's lips and he tugged at the fraying terry cloth of her robe. "Is this what you wear when no one is looking, love? And here I thought you'd sleep in something sexy."

"I'm not sleeping right now, am I?" she asked, turning away from him and rolling her eyes. "I'm not wearing anything underneath."

"Is this where we can whisk away to my room and have mind-blowing make-up sex after our first, albeit short and positively _anti-climactic,_ fight?" he questioned casually, leaning back against the counter and running a hand through his mussed hair.

Hermione eyed him from her peripheral and a smirk of her own began to spread across her face. _Add 'quick to forgive' to his list of attributes._ She vowed silently to attempt to think before she spoke when it came to her new husband, hoping to avoid the hurt she had caused over the last few hours. Looking at the pile of over-kneaded dough on the counter, she sighed. Perhaps baking while upset hadn't been the best decision. Draco glanced at it with an upturned nose and then at her. "I'll have Bobo get started on breakfast, then?"

"I don't want house elves doing _everything_ for us. I thought I made that clear?" she challenged, feeling defeated already.

"I don't want to starve. And the elf _enjoys_ it. Just this time and tomorrow, we wake early and try to figure out exactly how to fry an egg," he told her, waving his hand to clear the mess on the counter.

Hermione groaned, dropping her head to her arms on the counter for a moment before she ran her sticky hands beneath the water to clean them. "Fine. Just today. I'm cursing all those times my mother tried to get me to become a little more _domestic_ and I turned her down in favor of reading."

"You're not the type to be _domesticated_ , Hermione. And neither am I. I see a lot of take away in our future," he told her, taking her hand and lacing his fingers through hers confidently.

She swatted his arm, though she knew he was probably correct in his assumptions, as that is how she had lived for years now. Hermione followed him to his room and he closed the door behind them. His room was neat and tidy, organized pristinely. He was not one for knick-knacks or any kind of unfunctional items. Everything seemed to have a purpose and Hermione found that she wasn't surprised. Draco whispered, and a few candles were alight on his nightstand, bathing the room in a soft orange glow as the sky outside fought to lighten.

"Can I see you properly this time?" he asked, tugging at the belt of her robe.

Hermione's lips parted, and she nodded slowly, trying to absorb the fact that she was _already_ about to have sex with him _again._ Draco moved slowly, deliberately as he pushed the robe over her shoulders and she shrugged it free. "You really are something," he told her, lowering his mouth to suckle at the skin of her neck, making her forget every doubt or worry she had.

o-o-o

Draco moved about his room, dressing for work as Hermione stretched in his bed. It was not the wedding night he had hoped for, not entirely, but they had more than made up for it. It would take time for the two to work cohesively, but their chemistry was undeniable. He longed to be the one she could confide in, trust, _love_. He was trying to be patient, really. The last thing the wizard wanted was to run Hermione out, to push her away as he had done earlier in their lives. It became more evident to him with each passing day that she was an incredible witch, and he was fortunate to have been paired with her.

"Are you going into the bookstore today?" he questioned, tying his tie in the mirror.

"I don't think so. Blott, Jr. gave me the week off—I think he anticipated us going on a honeymoon even after I told him repeatedly that we weren't," Hermione told him, sitting up with his blankets bunched up around her.

Draco fought to keep his eyes off of her petite and undeniably beautiful body and focused on the silk between his fingers. "I should be home just after five. I noticed a little French place at the end of the road here, if you'd like to try that for dinner?"

Hermione smiled at his reflection and ran her fingers into her mane of curls, her fingers sticking on some tangles. "I'd like that. Get to know our neighbors and surroundings."

"Make a new name for ourselves in a place as fresh as we are?" he added, smiling as well at the sentiment.

"Exactly," she agreed.

When Draco was fully dressed, he smoothed a hand over his traveling cloak and turned toward Hermione. His first instinct was to kiss the top of her head as a goodbye gesture, but he was suddenly hesitant. They had had sex, multiple times, but were little touches going to be acceptable to her? He stepped close to where she was leaning back on her palms, watching him move about.

When he approached, Hermione sat up and cleared her throat. She tucked two fingers into his pocket, tugging him closer to her gently. Draco took that as all the permission he needed and bent to brush her forehead with his lips. "I'll see you tonight."

"Tonight," she agreed.

Draco apparated unceremoniously away from their home and to the front door of a nondescript building where he worked for his father's lending company. He tapped the door in the usual pattern with the end of his wand. As soon as he touched the handle, it burned white hot and he withdrew his hand immediately, trying to shake away the pain. "What the fuck?" he hissed.

"Mr. Malfoy?" a disembodied voice croaked.

The face of the elderly receptionist appeared before him in the grain of the wood. "Millie, let me in the damn door. The handle is scorching!"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I cannot do that," she croaked, coughing her smokers' hack when she finished.

"And why the hell not?" he demanded, growing ever more agitated as they went back and forth.

"Your father wanted me to give you a message, dear," she cleared her throat and he saw her eyes dart down to read from a piece of paper on her desk. "And I quote, 'That was the last time you make a mockery of the Malfoy name. You've upset your mother, so I hope you're satisfied with yourself. Bobo will bring your belongings by tonight.'"

"He fired me?" Draco shrieked, causing a few people around him to stop and stare.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I have to go now," she told him, and her face disappeared from the wood grain.

Draco felt the heat rising in his face, his temper flaring dangerously. He kicked the door as hard as he could, a sharp pain shooting into his foot though he ignored it as anger flooded him completely.

How could his father do this? All because he chose to marry his wife in the appropriate ceremony, the one Hermione had requested to begin with before his mother made a mockery of their pending nuptials? He turned away from the door, glaring so forcefully at an onlooker that the poor bloke tucked tail and rushed away from him. What was he going to do now? He had no other skills in this world except the world of money lending and he couldn't easily go up against his father. How was he to take care of Hermione, their future children? He knew his father would be angry, but to try and force his hand by cutting off his only means of surviving was low, and something he should have anticipated.

Draco strode away from the building, his thoughts tossing about like a boat on choppy seas. He couldn't head home—he couldn't bear the thought of facing Hermione just yet, of telling her he had failed at his one duty in their new life. He felt less like a wizard than he ever had before.

o-o-o


	9. Chapter 9

Draco could feel his entire world crashing around him. Newly married and freshly unemployed. How would he be able to take care of his wife? _Work through this together._ The rational part of his brain recalled Hermione's insistence that they were a team, but the Pureblood in him was torn to shreds at the thought that his wife would be forced to work in order for them to live comfortably.

How emasculating a thing for his father to do to him. Draco was no fool, he knew Lucius was trying to not only punish him for his insolence, but to strong-arm him into their initial plan of rendering her infertile. He would not stand for it. The War had changed his mindset and he refused to give in to the old ways out of convenience. He simply needed a plan on how to carry on from here.

Hermione deserved more than this. He walked the way he had come, toward the apparition point, wondering what he could possibly say to her. He knew instinctively that she would be understanding-that was her gentle nature. With a deep breath, he spun on the spot, landing in their home once more.

Draco took a seat on the edge of Hermione's bed, listening to the water running in the shower down the hall. Hermione was singing something to herself, her tone completely out of key. A huff of laughter left his lips as he dropped his head into his hands. The witch was completely barmy. Different, in every way, from the refined Pureblood women he had been groomed to seek. Her free spirit and quirky personality made him smile, more often than not, when he was alone.

The water cut off and the sound of her towel-drying reached his ears. He let out a long exhale of breath, holding his hands palm-to-palm, against his lips as though he were praying. Listening to her shower, Draco still had no idea what he would say to her. "Draco?" her voice called out in the hall. "I can feel you within the wards. What-"

Hermione stopped when she got to the doorway of her room. Draco opened his eyes and looked up at her, a million thoughts racing in his head. _My father fired me. I have no way of taking care of us. What are we going to do?_ These lines ran in his head like a sickening mantra and he swallowed thickly as she took a few uncertain steps into the room.

"What's the matter? You're pale," she told him, her brow furrowing with worry.

Draco had to let out a laugh at that. "I'm _always_ pale."

She was undeterred by his smart remarks as she made her way to stand right in front of him. Her fingers hooked under his chin and when their eyes met, a fresh wave of shame rolled over him. "You're trembling. Are you hurt?"

_Only my pride...and my foot..._ Draco shook his head. With Hermione standing so close to him, her fresh scent and the warmth radiating from her, he longed for nothing more than to replay just a few hours before. Lay with her, kiss and make love to her, forget this wretched morning ever happened.

He knew there was no way around it. Hermione was determined when she wanted to be and she was looking at him expectantly, running a soft thumb over his bottom lip as she waited for him to begin speaking. Lowering his gaze, he cleared his throat. "I no longer work for Malfoy Lending. As of this morning, or perhaps, last evening, I have been terminated."

A quiet gasp was all that passed between them and he was dreadfully aware of the cheerful sound of a bird chirping outside of the window. Her hands moved to his shoulders and still she said nothing. "So?" his voice rumbled after a few beats of silence.

"Why would he do such a thing. You're the sole heir to his fortune!"

"Punishment. I embarrassed them when I sent everyone away at the wedding. I chose to honor you, a muggle-born, over them. They see it as the biggest slap in the face," he explained slowly. "Not to mention, my father believes that cutting off access to the family vaults and supply of money will force my hand."

"Force your hand into what, exactly?" Hermione asked, bewildered that such disparities could still exist in a post-War society.

"You don't want to know," he warned. "Just know, that I have chosen you and, in doing so, I have turned by back on my family."

They were silent for a moment and Hermione sat next to Draco in her towel, her shoulder brushing against his suited one. Her arm snaked under his to thread their fingers together and his heart's racing slowed a beat. "You aren't ashamed? To have a husband who can't even take care of you?"

She laid her head of damp curls on his shoulder, the crown buried in the crook of his neck. "To be honest, I don't think I've ever been more proud of someone in my life. I know it wasn't easy," she turned his hand over in hers and traced his wrist delicately with her fingers, "to stand up to them, especially for someone you don't even love. But the fact that you did...it's the most admirable thing you've ever done."

Draco rested his cheek against her head, frowning at how utterly forgiving and understanding she was. She just accepted him, accepted this, with grace and mercy, complimenting him in the process. "What will you do now?" she asked softly, the question he had been dreading.

He bit the inside of his cheek twice and sighed. "I have enough money in my personal vault to get by for a while, if we live within our means. I honestly have no other formal training in any other area, so I'm not exactly sure. I suppose I could head to the Ministry today and sniff around about potential openings."

Hermione stiffened slightly and her fingers ceased their tracing of his skin. She leaned away from him and it took a moment for him to look at her. Her bottom lip was between her teeth and she had an anxious little curve of a smile. "What?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"How much money do you have in your vault?" she asked, her cheeks turning pink at such a personal question.

Taken aback, Draco tried to mentally calculate what he had left in his personal vault. "Close to twelve thousand galleons, if I had to estimate?" he replied, a foolishly low number in his opinion.

He had never felt the need to siphon money from his trust, the fares his father paid him affording him more than enough pocket money. This pocket money, however, was nothing when faced with living off of it. Hermione was gnawing at her lower lip, her eyes moving rapidly as she stared into his and he could see she was calculating. "I've saved about five thousand," she told him, looking somewhat embarrassed by that number as well.

"I don't want you touching that. That is the money for your bookstore," he replied simply, trying his best to give her a stern look.

"I know," she said slowly. "And if you put in the other seven thousand, we could buy the vacant building at the end of Ravensbrooke Road."

Draco looked at her incredulously. "You want me to waste the majority of what little money we have on a store that may flop in its first year?"

He didn't miss the hurt that flashed across her eyes. "What is life if you don't take risks?" she challenged.

_Risks._ He had already taken a huge risk by defying his parents for the witch and it had landed them in this mess. But her look of hesitant hope was nearly too much for him. When it came to pleasing Hermione, Draco was nearly helpless to withstand her. He had bought her the house of her dreams, and Merlin help him, he was going to buy her the bookstore of her dreams. "Fuck," he hissed, looking away from those imploring doe eyes.

"You don't need to give me an answer now. But I have a lot of ideas for the store, and I'd love to share them with you. I believe if we offer both Muggle and Magical authors, it would bring a fresh market of people. I don't know of a single bookstore that offers both," she told him, excitement filling her voice.

"Rowensmeade isn't exactly a bustling metropolis," he pointed out. "How do you expect to attract patrons?"

"True. Compared to Hogsmeade on Hogwarts saturdays, the traffic is slower. But the town is full of older, more established witches and wizards. I truly believe that we would have a fair share of clientele," she argued. "Not to mention, I've asked around a few times when I went to the market. A few people are already interested."

"Fuck," he repeated, running a hand over his face before leaning back on his elbow. "I don't know why I even bother to argue. I'll always give you what you want."

Hermione grinned and leaned over him, her hair falling like a curtain over his face. "That's what I'm counting on," she laughed, kissing his cheek.

o-o-o

Draco felt positively ill as he and Hermione stared up at the dilapidated building at 533 Ravensbrooke Road. His already light vault was seven thousand galleons lighter and the thought of not making the money back quickly enough turned his stomach. Next to him, Hermione was bouncing on her feet, brimming with excitement. "Granger, this place is an even bigger dump than the cottage had been," he commented, grumpy at the prospect of days of cleaning and restoring facing them.

"Yes. And you grumbled about that at first, but look how much you love our home now," she argued lightly, giving him a smile as she tapped the front door of the building with her wand.

Draco rolled his eyes, unwilling to agree with her. He _did_ love their home, the simplicity of the black-eyed susans in the garden soothing him as he watched Hermione clip them from their kitchen window. A peculiar feeling settled in his stomach as he watched Hermione step into their new bookstore. _You don't love the home, you love how she feels like home._ He swallowed down the lump that was rapidly forming in his throat, his palms sweating at how true that statement was.

It had been a week since he had been turned away from his father's company, and in that week, he and Hermione had spent nearly every moment together. Though the sting was still fresh on his heart and the worry present in the back of his mind, she had a way about her that comforted Draco. It took so very little to bring a smile to her lips-a pretty flower, a few pushes on their swing, a corny joke, a brush of his hand on her cheek. Never before had he experienced something so utterly perfect, simple, _pure_. Their days were spent in the kitchen, learning to fry eggs or roast chicken, reading on the couch together with her feet tucked under his thigh, gathering fresh herbs from their garden to dry for calming baths. Their nights were spent talking, about any and everything, kissing, getting lost in one another. Her fertile days were forgotten, with the couple finding solace in each other's embrace regardless.

Draco was standing in the doorway, his lips parted as he relived the last week in his mind. Hermione twirled around in the middle of the large vacant space, a smile on her face. "This is so perfect!" she squealed, and his feet began moving of their own accord.

His hands were cupping her cheeks and his lips were on hers before he could register ever moving away from the door. _You're perfect._ It was the one message he tried to convey in the kiss. Hermione knotted her hands into his hair and pulled him closer, her entire body humming with joy. The building was damp and dusty, smelled stale and the air was far too stuffy. But Hermione tasted sweet and kissed even sweeter, smelled like warmth and felt like _home_.

She finally pulled away and smirked up at him. "Ready to get those perfectly manicured hands dirty, Malfoy?"

"This had better work out, Granger-"

"Malfoy," she corrected.

It was Draco's turn to smirk. "Because it's all we have right now."

Her fingers laced with his. _We have each other._

o-o-o


	10. Your Heart Is All I Own

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please take note that this is a missing scene from chapter 9. I didn't want to post it as a one-shot because it easily fits in there. But this would not leave me alone after posting chapter 9, so we'll pretend Draco's thinking back on the week, shall we? Nevermind that only this one chapter has a name…shhh…

" _Not knowing what it was_

_I will not give you up this time,_

_But, darling, just kiss me slow, your heart is all I own_

_And in your eyes you're holding mine."_

_-"Perfect" by Ed Sheeran_

Watching Hermione sleep was rapidly becoming one of Draco's favorite pastimes. They took turns spending the night in each other's room each night, and tonight they were in hers. It took everything in him not to reach over and kiss every inch of her skin as she slept, afraid he would wake her. He rested his head against his pillow and tilted his head toward hers, listening to her soft breaths as he thought over the last week:

_Unbridled worry settled in Draco's heart whenever he was not sufficiently preoccupied by Hermione. It was, he suspected, the reason she remained so tethered to him over the days after he had been fired from his father's company. As he stared at the ceiling, she leaned over him, her head cradled in her hand. "You're worrying again," she accused, pulling the blankets up slightly over his abdomen._

" _I'm not. I swear," he lied, ashamed that she could read him so clearly._

" _You're a terrible liar, Draco Malfoy," she told him with a small, distracted laugh. "And you get this ghastly wrinkle, right between your eyebrows, when you fret."_

_As she said this, she used her first finger to smooth out the crease Draco knew would be right where she claimed. "Everything will be just fine. We're in it together. You sail, I sail, you sink, I sink," she tried to comfort, unsuccessfully._

" _You're not helping," he deadpanned, and he closed his eyes as Hermione traced a fingertip over the features of his face._

_Married was a strange happenstance in which to find himself, particularly to Hermione Granger. But he had to hand it to the witch-she had a touch that relinquished his worries and calmed his heart. "It's nearly noon, so do you want to wander into town and find some nourishment?" he asked at the feel of her featherlight caresses over his brows._

_Hermione brushed over his lips and he kissed them without hesitance before her lips were resting tenderly against his. A slow, purposeful kiss where she cradled his jaw and led his tongue to play along hers. Merlin, he had no idea what he had done for the Fates to pair them, but he was quickly becoming addicted to these moments. Moments she so willingly gave him._

_When she pulled back, she gave him a small smile and tapped his chin. "No. I think I'd like to try my hand at poaching an egg. We did so well yesterday with frying them."_

_Draco laughed-they had gone through nearly a half dozen before they, collectively, managed one perfect sunny-side up egg. "Come on. Pry your lazy bones out of bed," she told him, patting his chest before she climbed over the side._

_After sliding her knickers up, Hermione retrieved his button-down shirt from the floor and pulled it over her shoulders. Draco groaned as he stretched his torso long and tossed his blankets aside. After he had pulled on some joggers, she held out her hand for him to take. It was a small measure, once again alerting him to the fact that she was trying to make each moment about them. Since their spat, she had made every effort to build him up, to show him that he was worthy though he felt low, to create a strong foundation for their fresh relationship._

_Hermione pulled the basket of eggs out and set to work preparing a pot on the stove. Her eyes glanced out of their kitchen window and she sighed happily. "The flowers are so beautiful. We'll have to clip a bouquet."_

_Draco snaked his hand around the pot's handle and gave her a gentle nudge out of the way. "I'll do this, and you go and pick a few for the table. This place could use some brightening up," he said ironically, looking around at all of the vibrancy of their home._

_Hermione laughed and poked him roughly in the chest. "Don't even think about cheating with magic."_

_Draco rolled his eyes and turned off the tap. "Wouldn't dream of it."_

_She left the room as he put the water on the stovetop to boil. Forever impatient, he grew tired of watching the water come to a boil and sped the process along a little. He had no bloody idea how to poach a damn egg and so he cracked it directly into the water, swearing when a drop splashed back on him._

_When he went to retrieve a towel from the rack running in front of the sink basin, the sight outside caught his attention. He wiped his arm and tossed the towel over his shoulder leaning forward to watch his wife pick flowers. The sunlight was catching her mass of curls at just the right angle to create a golden halo around the crown. Her skin was golden and glowed in the sun as she stood still for a moment and brought a flower to her nose. Her eyes were closed, and her head turned up toward the rare sunlight, fully basking in the day's delights._

_Draco's lips parted as he drank in a sight so resplendent, his heart was pounding somewhere behind his Adam's apple. Barefoot, wearing only knickers and his shirt, she crouched to pluck a black-eyed Susan from alongside the storage shed. She smiled down at it and, as though she could feel his gaze on her, her eyes flickered to the window. Her smile widened as he felt his own lips do the same, and she shrugged one shoulder nonchalantly, holding up the flowers she had to show._

_His head gave an involuntary nod and the sound of water splashing out of the pot drew his attention back to the kitchen. He looked over to where his poached eggs had broken and looked more like some kind of mutant algae growing in the water. "Fuck," he swore quietly under his breath._

_He quickly set to work with his wand trying to salvage what little he could in an attempt not to look like he had failed as such an easy task. The screen door clattered open and Hermione let out a squeal. "Draco Malfoy! You cheat!" she told him with a laugh._

" _I was distracted," he muttered, frowning at the mess inside of the pot._

" _Distracted? By?"_

_Under his breath, far too low for her to hear, he uttered, "An angel."_

_Her hands were at his back and her forehead, still warm from the outside, was laid against him. "What am I going to do with you?"_

" _Wine and dine me in town?" he suggested, vanishing his morning's spoils with an impatient wave of his wand._

_o-o-o_

" _You did not!" Hermione shrieked, her face alight with disbelieving glee._

" _I did. We were thirteen and my father was furious. 'Upstanding pureblood wizards should not be indulging is such fanciful muggle dalliances'," Draco imitated his father's deep voice to near perfection._

" _You were only watching a film!" she argued, tucking her toes under his thigh as she settled her back against the arm of the couch._

" _I didn't tell you what kind of film," he said slyly, a smirk blooming across his face._

_Hermione put a hand over her eyes, her face turning pink at the mentioning of such naughty things. It was endearing, and Draco found he quite enjoyed the sight of a blush across her cheeks. "You and Theo in a muggle...theater. You were little terrors!"_

" _My father brought us into muggle London and left us in the reception area to wait for him while he did his business. Did he really think Theo and I would just stay put?" he rolled his eyes, smiling fondly at the memory._

_Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Do you realize how utterly hypocritical it is for your father to close business dealings with muggles with the same breath he uses to say things like 'fanciful muggle dalliances'?"_

" _Of course I realize. Got quite the corporal punishment when I told him the very same."_

_Her smile fell, and Draco tapped the smooth expanse of her shin. "Hey, it was a long time ago. It doesn't bother me anymore, so don't let it bother you."_

" _I just wonder what your life would have been like if you never had such influences. Who you could have been all along," she murmured, raising a glass of wine to her lips._

" _I used to wonder the same thing. I'd see you and Potter and Weasley, and you always looked so bloody happy. Laughing together in the Great Hall. Studying together in the library. I was so jealous," Draco told her, feeling vulnerable as he told her of his secrets._

" _Crabbe and Goyle seemed…" Hermione's voice trailed off as she searched for a word._

_Draco dropped his head to his fist on the back of the couch. "They were lackeys. Muscle. I couldn't be who or what I wanted, so I figured ruling by fear and bullying would make people respect me."_

" _How'd that work out for you?" she questioned sarcastically, though her tone was not biting._

" _I was one of the most miserable individuals you could have had the misfortune to meet. I should think that is fairly evident," he told her truthfully._

" _You looked rather smug for the most part...until sixth year," she mentioned, averting her eyes as she cringed at the words that slipped from her mouth, unfiltered the lower the wine bottle got._

" _I wanted to die, you know?" he confessed, the words slipping from him like he had drank veritaserum. "When I first took the Mark, I wanted to avenge my father. But by the end, I just wanted to die, I was ready for it."_

_Hermione was silent for a few moments, letting his words soak over her. "There were so many days I wanted to run. To find my parents in Australia and leave Britain, and horcruxes, and Voldemort behind me."_

_A confession for a confession, a concept Draco could appreciate. "I think we're better for what we've come through, Draco," Hermione told him, setting her glass on the coffee table._

_He finished the liquid in his glass and set it alongside hers, huffing a scoff at her statement. "Perhaps you are. I've been fucked up for a long time."_

" _But look who you are now," she retorted lightly._

_His eyes lifted to meet hers and a corner of his lip tugged into a half-smile._ One day you'll see I'm not the enemy. _It was a phrase he repeated to her often, in hopes that she would see how true it was in time. The way she was looking at him from the opposite end of the couch, her cheek resting against the couch back and her fingers twisting the hem of her oversized jumper, it was as though she was seeing him for the first time. She held out her hands and dropped her knees. "Why don't you come over here?"_

_Draco's brow twitched before one raised toward his hairline. Hesitant, he leaned forward and clumsily climbed between her parted legs. Instinctively he knew she wanted to snuggle up, so he rested his head on her chest and wrapped his arms under her torso. One hand rested on his bare shoulder and the other brushed lazily through his hair. He could hear her heart, beating steadily beneath his ear and he closed his eyes to the sound. "I have no idea what I'm doing, Draco. As a wife. Most days, I feel like a failure and a disappointment. I can't even make a solid dinner, for Merlin's sake. Still, I can't say that I'm upset we were matched."_

_His eyes were still closed during her whispered confession and he slipped his fingers beneath the back of her jumper, seeking just a little more contact. His lips brushed against her collarbone and he nestled closer into her, hoping that, though he was silent, she understood what he could not say. Hermione summoned a blanket from the chest and draped it over them as she adjusted under his weight. A flame flickered in his chest, an unfamiliar feeling settled in him at the feel of her fingers combing through his hair—a warmth that had nothing to do with the blanket enveloping them._

_o-o-o_

" _We really need to plant a few more sprigs of lavender to grow back here," Hermione told him one evening after dinner._

_She was crouched over their herb garden, gathering a few items to make a bath soak. They were both barefoot-a concept Draco had once considered common. His sleeves were rolled up and he was enjoying the warm night air as he watched his wife gather rosemary. "We'll pick some up when we go into town tomorrow."_

" _I've got about a half a jar left of my special mix," she told him, standing and smelling the branch of rosemary._

" _What's in it?" he asked, never having bothered her while she was bathing._

" _Everlasting rose petals, dried lavender, rosemary, a few whole jasmine flowers...among other things," she replied with a shrug. "Maybe later we can test and see if it works the knots out of your shoulders as well as it does mine."_

_His witch, his pretty and incredible witch, had done nothing but try to ease his tension for days now. He loved spending time with her, a fact that surprised him to no end. He had never experienced anything like this with anyone else-a closeness that made him want to spill every secret from his heart, lay himself bare for her to collect carefully and mend slowly. Everything had changed after their first night as a married couple and he felt like he was caught in a fast moving whirlpool._

_His sudden dependency on her crushed him and his heart ached within his chest at times, soon to be caressed by the next kind gesture on Hermione's part. Draco reached over and laced his fingers with hers, gently guiding them toward the swing that hung from the oak tree in their garden. It was little more than a board pieced between two ropes, but it lit Hermione's eyes right up when he suggested he push her for a few minutes._

_She settled her bum on the board and let out a contented sigh as his hands brushed against her back. "You're so easy to please," he commented quietly._

" _Are you calling me simple?" she challenged, moving her legs to propel a little farther._

" _Not at all. Just compared to the Pureblood witches I've dealt with, you're relatively low maintenance," he clarified._

" _I've never given much thought to trivial things, like hair potions or cosmetics."_

" _And yet, you're more beautiful than any other witch I've ever set eyes on," he replied, his mouth moving before his mind caught up._

_Hermione stopped propelling herself forward and leaned back into him, raising her head to look at his face upside down. He felt his cheeks burning when he lifted his hand from her back and tickled his fingers down the column of her throat. "Are you trying to charm me, Malfoy?" she asked, playfully batting her eyelashes at him._

" _Is it working?" he teased, stepping around to stand in front of her._

_The light of the strung fairy lights she had insisted for the back garden set her features aglow. She was radiant as she smiled up at him. He knew then that his statement was true. Hermione was, without a doubt in his mind, the loveliest woman he had ever had the pleasure to lay eyes on. It was natural beauty that began within her and illuminated her entire being. His hands went to cup her face. He lightly pulled her and she stood, their lips meeting tenderly._

_Draco stepped into her and she stepped back, her fingers pressing into his shoulders, indicating he should lead her toward the house. They made it a few feet before Hermione stumbled and fell back, Draco failing to catch her in his dazed state. He leaned over her as she began to laugh merrily. "Are you alright?"_

_Her hand shot up and gripped his shirt, pulling him down toward her. He landed just as messily, straddling her hips while she captured his lips with her own. The wind whispered through the blades of grass surrounding them, creating the softest symphony of rustling. It was plush enough that it rose above her arms and cradled her like a plush mattress. It tickled his forearms, but Hermione didn't seem to mind as she coaxed his shirt over his shoulders._

_While Draco didn't know if he would ever get used to the simplistic pulchritude of a life with Hermione Granger, he thought he could certainly get used to the tender brushes of her healing touch on his heart._

O-O-O


	11. Chapter 11

Draco Malfoy had taken up residence in Hermione's mind. When they were together, his reserved countenance slowly melting away, he overwhelmed her senses in the most pleasant of ways. His touch could both extinguish her worries and ignite a passion within her. She learned him, could tell in a glance what kind of a mood he was in, how she should react. His kisses brought the taste of the sweets he favored after dinner. The scent of aged parchment and his distinctly _Malfoy_ brand intoxicated her as they worked to stock the shelves at the shop. His throaty laughs were infectious.

Working with one another, she had become acquainted with a different side of him. He was thrifty, despite his upbringing. And business savvy for the same reason. Their intention had not initially been to go into the search and sale of ancient and unusual tomes, and Hermione was offended on Draco's behalf that people should assume that his family history denoted an ability to obtain such oddities. _"Well…they aren't wrong. I can easily track this book down—I only need to call one of Theodore Nott's cousin. Maybe this is the linchpin we needed all along, love,"_ he'd said to her as she worried and fretted over his mentality after such accusations.

Hermione had been unhappy with the ease with which he gave in, but curiosity and desire to touch such exceptional volumes overrode her fears. Draco, for his part, seemed to enjoy the challenge each request brought. After being in such a dark and depressive state, the small victories the bookstore created each day raised his spirits.

It had been three days since Draco had left for Amsterdam in search of a rare book on Elvin magic. Three long, strange days. Leaning over the counter and watching the road outside of the shop window, the witch absently counted the minutes until closing, when Ginny Zabini would arrive and whisk her away for a "much-needed girl's night." Since the enactment of the Ministry's marriage law, Hermione hadn't spent much time with any one of her friends—a fact that had guilt gnawing at her belly.

A single elderly witch lingered in the romance aisle, studying the covers of Muggle books with something more than innocent fascination. She had already purchased over a dozen of the cheesy romance novels in the two months since Opuscules and Oddities opened. "Are you doing okay, Mrs. Dors? Need any help?"

The witch jumped at Hermione's sudden verbal intrusion into her day's fantasies and she pulled her cloak tighter around her neck as a blush rose over wrinkled cheeks. "Oh no, dear. I was browsing, but I think I've found the one I want," she replied, holding up an incredibly thick book with a strapping young cowboy painted across the cover.

The romance aisle in the middle of the Muggle section had been Draco's tongue-in-cheek bit of resistance against the wizarding world's new romantic constructs. It had also been one of the most popular areas of the store, much to his impish delight. Mrs. Dors clambered up to the till, pulling a torn and tattered coin purse from her pocket. "How has business been? I've noticed the young Malfoy boy is hardly ever around," she mentioned, and Hermione could tell she was prying for information as she dropped a galleon on the countertop.

Hermione wrapped the paperback with nondescript brown paper and handed it to the old woman. " _Draco_ is in The Netherlands in search of a book right now. But I know he appreciates your patronage here."

Mrs. Dors made a tutting noise of disapproval but said nothing more as Hermione clenched her jaw. Arguing with a customer would bring no good to her business. Watching as she hobbled from the store, she turned the signed to closed with a wave of her wand just as Ginny side-stepped Mrs. Dors.

The redheaded witch held her arms out for a hug, a feminine squeal piercing the air. It had been a month since Ginny had wed Blaise, but it was one of the heaviest, most life-altering months of her life thus far. Hermione stepped away from the till and allowed Ginny to scoop her into an embrace that rivaled the great Molly Weasley's. "I've missed you, _so much!_ " she screeched at Hermione excitedly.

Hermione smiled into her friend's shoulder and tightened her squeeze before letting her go. "I've missed you, too, Gin. There's a little tavern at the end of the road here—shall we head over?"

Ginny laced her arm with Hermione's and put her head on her shoulder. "I could use a pint…or three. We have _so much_ catching up to do."

They walked in the warm night down the cobblestone street, their arms linked. "Rowensmeade is rather quaint, isn't it?" Ginny asked, tilting her head to the side as she took in the sight of the rows of Tudor-Revival style buildings and faded signs. "Like something from a fairy tale."

Hermione smiled to herself—she had told Draco not long ago that the storybook romanticism was what had appealed to her since the first time she had set foot in the town. "It's quiet and the townspeople are getting to know us and getting used to the idea of the War Heroine and Disgraced Pureblood."

Ginny frowned as Hermione opened the door to the tavern. It was dimly lit inside and a tad on the grittier side, but the bar maiden was gentle and reminded her immensely of Molly. She was stout and motherly with a head of grey hair swept into a messy bun atop her head, an apron with hand-sewn patch repairs. Hermione gave her a slight wave as they settled into the corner booth. "Evening, Rem," she called as Remula came with two glasses of water to start them off.

The crows' feet around her eyes crinkled as she set the glasses before the pair and eyed Ginny curiously. "The usual, Hermione?"

"Please. And a tray of chips with curry sauce," Hermione said politely and the witch's face lit up at the request.

Ginny raised an eyebrow curiously. "Fries with curry sauce?"

"I explained some Muggle cuisine to her the first night Draco and I ate here," Hermione explained with a shrug, taking a gulp of her water. "Rowensmeade is pretty progressive in terms of welcoming Muggle culture. Another part of the appeal here."

Ginny twisted the large diamond ring around her finger, biting her bottom lip, and Hermione immediately grew anxious at her silence. "How's your mum? Suffering from empty nest syndrome with all of her chicks flying the coop?" she asked, trying to analyze her friend's moment of pensive hesitation.

"She has been fraught with worry." Ginny rolled her eyes and blew a breath up toward her fringe. "Ron and Cho are causing quite the ripple in the family cohesion."

"Oh?" Hermione gave Remula an appreciative nod of the head as she set their pint and food before them. "Cho still crying constantly?"

Shuddering, Ginny lifted a chip to inspect the sauce before popping it into her mouth. "Worse—wow, these are excellent," she commented, lifting a second to her lips. "She has now taken to giving Ron the silent treatment."

Hermione tried to picture Ron and Cho sitting across the breakfast table, neither talking. "Seems a little harsh—it's not his fault that the Ministry forced them into this. No more than it's my fault or Pansy Parkinson's or Harry's!"

A sly smile spread across Ginny's face as she took a conspiring sip of her ale. "No. But it _is_ his fault he told her that all of her blubbering makes his manhood wither."

Hermione snorted her sip of frothy ale through her nose and sputtered as she dabbed at her front with a napkin. "He did _what?_ "

"Yeah…on their _wedding_ night, no less!" Laughter erupted in light bubbles from within Ginny's chest and Hermione couldn't help but join in at the absurdity of it all. "They haven't properly consummated the marriage yet."

Hermione thought briefly of the strange pairings all over Europe, forced into marriages of parental obligation. She and Draco had engaged in awkward first-time sex, but the subsequent encounters had been anything but. "What about you and Blaise then?"

Ginny's face reddened up to the tips of her ears as she tucked a smug grin into her drink. "Well…all of the rumors that circulated around Hogwarts were certainly true. He does this thing with his tongue—"

Hermione put a hand up as she scrunched her nose in distaste. "Please. Spare me the gory details and I'll extend the same courtesy."

"Oh, but I want to hear the gory details," Ginny replied, a wicked twinkle in her eye. "Tell me—is he rough and domineering? His personality would certainly fit."

"No, not really. He's more…nurturing, I suppose. Always puts me ahead of his own pleasure," Hermione told her, and for a moment, she could almost feel the tender caress of his hand roaming over her breast, down her abdomen, between her thighs. "Let's just say, I'm not wholly displeased with this union any longer."

Ginny seemed to deflate a little at the anticlimactic answer. "The two of you may be doing better than any of the rest of us."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Two seconds ago, you were ready to spout off about the Italian Stallion's tongue tricks!"

A faint sadness stole over Ginny's face and, had Hermione not been staring intently, she might have missed it. She reached over and placed a hand over top of her friend's, running her thumb over the back. "He's just not Harry," her voice was softer, laced with desperation, "I know it's not his fault. But Blaise will never be Harry."

Hermione moved to sit in the booth beside Ginny, instead of across from her. "I know this can't be easy for you."

Ginny wiped her sleeve across her face, collecting a stray tear. "He's miserable, too, you know. Pansy does nothing but berate him and moan about how much smaller his vault is in comparison to what she once had access to in the Parkinson vaults."

"Is she not allowed to dig into her daddy's coin purse any longer?" Her tone laced with bitter sarcasm, Hermione frowned at the thought of her best friend having to put up with such nonsense.

"No. The upper echelon of the Sacred Twenty-Eight are all in an uproar—seizing their tangible assets and hiding them in foreign countries. They're afraid of the _lesser_ families finding loopholes and robbing them blind in the name of holy matrimony. Think they'll be able to overthrow this whole marriage law—can't say I'd be opposed to them winning _that_ argument. Hasn't Draco said anything?" Ginny asked, furrowing her brow.

Draco hadn't had contact with his parents since his banishment from his father's business, his ability to go into the Malfoy vault stripped from him before he had even broken their kiss at the ceremony. "He hasn't spoken to his parents since the day his father exiled him."

"Blaise mentioned Malfoy's been avoiding him. And he only spoke to Theo to ask about a book," Ginny mentioned casually, though she seemed to be hinting at something.

Hermione sighed. "I can't make him want to speak to anyone," she offered, popping a chip into her mouth. "I think he's embarrassed of having fallen from grace, so to speak. They just need to be patient—he'll come around."

Ginny frowned as she stared out of the window at the quiet streets of the valley town. "It's hard for me to wrap my head around the fact that, of all the matched couples I've spoken to, you and _Malfoy_ are doing the best. It's almost like you're _happy_."

And with that simple sentence ringing clear between them, Hermione thought back over the last couple of months with her new husband. A grin tugged at the corner of her lips as she thought of the way his face lit up when they accomplished something new together—just the day before she had introduced him to dessert gelatin and he had laughed with unparalleled glee at the sight of it. Used to a haughty sneer for so many years, Hermione was pleasantly surprised when butterflies chased up her esophagus as she drank in the handsome smile on his face. The feel of his hands and lips against her skin sent a thrill through her every time and his whispered compliments made her heart race. _Does he feel the same?_ It wasn't the first time she had wondered if her feelings had grown too strong, too quick.

It had been three long days and, against her common-sense rationale that screamed " _Time apart is good!"_ and " _This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about!",_ she found a dull ache settling itself in her chest. There was a definite void, growing wider as memories of the last few weeks flooded her. Merlin, help her. She was a lost cause.

Ginny waved a hand in front of her face. "Earth to Hermione!" she snapped a couple of times as Hermione nudged her. "Godric, you really _are_ smitten!"

Hermione couldn't even pretend to hide the smile that resulted from this realization, even as Ginny's nose wrinkled.

o-o-o

The cottage was dark when Hermione stepped in a few minutes past midnight. The rest of the evening had consisted of reliving old memories—ones Hermione had long forgotten in some instances. The nostalgia hit her hard and left the already-throbbing pain in her chest to expand ever more rapidly. Ginny was usually lively and spritely, but the reality of losing Harry to Pansy Parkinson had dimmed her charisma quite a bit. With a guilty gnaw to her bottom lip, Hermione thought that perhaps Draco was smarter in staying away from his friends—their own little bubble here in Rowensmeade was sheer bliss when faced with the reality.

Her heart sank as she remembered Ginny's words to her. The muckety mucks of the wizarding world were trying to get the marriage law repealed. Draco's parents were likely at the forefront of that crusade. _Would he want a divorce, should the option be presented?_ She toed off her shoes as she made her way toward the kitchen.

There Draco stood, leaning back against the worktop and sipping warm tea from a dainty teacup, only the pale moonlight bathing the room in a dim glow. At the sight of her, he set his cup down and leaned back on the palms of his hands at the edge of the sink basin. "You're home late."

"You're home early!" Had she had any sense about her, Hermione would have been disgusted by the entirely-too high pitch of her voice.

Her feet carried her across the room in a hurry, her mind shutting down as she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face into his chest. Inhaling the clean masculine scent that would forever remind her of him, her eyes clenched. His arms circled her—heavy, protective. Draco dropped his face into the crook of her neck, nuzzling a pace under her ear that made her knees go weak. "Miss me?" he whispered, his warm breath raising gooseflesh over her chest.

A hum caught at the back of her throat, Hermione simply lifted her face to meet his, brushing her lips over his as she cupped his jaw. He had a light stubble, scratchy under her touch, and she ran her thumb over it as he deepened the kiss.

_Merlin,_ had she missed him. Hermione had never fancied herself a romantic in the practical sense of the word. She'd always enjoyed the classic love stories, but real-life application had never held any necessity to her. His presence in her life had changed all of that. The pattering of her heart as she stood, enveloped in his tight embrace, told her that something had shifted. Long gone were the days of her being uncomfortable around him, replaced instead with a feeling of safety and protection. They'd faced so much together in such a short time, and each obstacle had been overcome together.

Wanting nothing more than to tangle herself in him, she pulled away and dragged her lips over his jaw and down his throat. "Move in with me."

His responding laugh vibrated through her lips as she nipped at his flesh. "We already live together."

"In my room," she corrected, pulling away to look up at him. "In our room. We could demolish that separating wall."

Draco's brow quirked as she laced her fingers through his. "What brought this on?" he questioned softly as they wove through the dark house.

"I've done a lot of thinking," she murmured over her shoulder as she pulled him toward her room.

He scoffed, openly watching her rear swing as she climbed the stairs. "Now there's a change."

At the top of the staircase, Hermione turned and swatted at him. "Hush, will you? I did a lot of thinking when I was out to dinner with Ginny. I'm really grateful that _we_ were paired."

Draco placed his hands on either of her hips, sliding them under her shirt and pressing her closer to himself. "It wasn't the best way to get together, I'll admit."

"But we could have done so much worse," she told him, backing into her doorway and pulling him along.

His hands made quick work of her shirt, tugging it over her mane of curls. "I missed you, too, you know," he commented, his hands dipping under the waist of her skirt to cup her arse, pulling the skirt and her knickers down with his thumbs.

It was a gentle admission, dripping with truth and self-conscious hesitance, despite the movements of his hands. Her fingers flicked each of the buttons of his shirt open with practiced ease. "Oh?" Hermione pulled away and gave him a playfully admonishing glare. "Did you only miss this?"

Draco looked down at her, the pause dragging out before his hands traced over the sides of her neck and his left thumb traced her lips. "No. I missed you: our mornings together, the routine we've fallen into, laughing in the kitchen, working in the bookshop. It was so lonesome in the hotel. No soft laughs or satisfied sighs as you read. No one to tell me I was poaching an egg wrong _again_. No one to lecture me on the merits of _ironing_ the Muggle way."

"Well," she began unbuckling his belt, "think of me here. No snarky remarks about the amount of sugar in my tea. No one hogging the mirror for an hour to comb his hair. No one to read to my favorite passages from Muggle books or to lecture me on the merits of wizardry and how magic could improve each scenario tenfold. No ghosts of breath against my shoulder as you pull me close."

Stepping out of his trousers, he backed her to the bed, running his hands down over her hips as he nestled between her legs, kissing every inch of her body he could readily reach. "Leaving is _torture_."

Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, running her ankle over the smooth expanse of his lower back. "Then don't leave again."

"I have to," Draco purred, stroking over her core and causing her to shudder at his touch. "But we can make my return memorable."

o-o-o


	12. Chapter 12

With Hermione's head on his chest, Draco felt himself being lulled into a sleepy daze. Her head shifted and her hand grazed over his bare abdomen. "Are you still awake?" Her whisper was little more than a breath—clearly meant not to wake him had he been asleep.

He responded with a groggy grunt and she leaned up on one arm, still tucked into the crook of his. Her eyes were large and dewy as she looked down at him. Concern and hesitation were written across her features. "What is it?" he asked, brushing her hair over her shoulder and pinching her earlobe lightly between his thumb and forefinger before coming to rest on her neck.

Her brows pinched together as she averted her gaze, her fingertip running a circle over his stomach. "Ginny told me something… _worrisome_ tonight."

"Blaise is the only Italian who can't cook a proper saltimbocca?" Draco guessed lightly.

"The Sacred Twenty-Eight are trying to fight the marriage law," she blurted suddenly.

_Of course they are_. "And?" He raised an eyebrow, unsurprised by the news.

Hermione sat up, completely avoiding his stare now. "I know this arrangement wasn't _preferable_ ," she spat, and Draco wondered at her suddenly harsh tone. "But I thought we've been getting along better than we had initially expected."

Draco sat up, understanding cutting through the haze. Wrapping his arms around Hermione's middle, he pulled her into his chest. "Silly, witch. Do you think that I would seek an annulment?"

"If they repeal the law, there would be no reason for this us to remain married."

It felt as though a knife pierced through his ribcage. His arms dropped from around her waist and he felt his entire being deflate—his body, his confidence, his heart. Her demeanor was stiff and her voice shook when she said it. _She doesn't feel the same._ "If—" he swallowed thickly, nearly gagging on the disappointment and heartbreak, "—if that's what you want."

Hermione finally turned to him, and he could see tears glistening on her lashes. "It's not what I want. Not even close."

Draco lifted his hand, holding it between them in a moment of uncertainty before he cupped her face. "What do you want, love? I can't read your mind."

Her lips were against his in a chaste kiss. Draco stilled for a moment, surprised by her sudden assault. Moving to straddle his lap in her bare state, she draped her arms over his shoulders and deepened the kiss. "I want _you_ ," she murmured softly against his lips. "This."

Draco had fallen hard for her since their forced wedding. Every day had been a journey of learning and compromise, and he had immensely enjoyed getting lost in her. Their union had been far easier than either of them could have ever guessed. The deflated bits of his countenance inflated with her admission, until he felt as though he would float through the air. Moving his hands along the curves of her sides, he pulled her flush against his chest. "I love you, Hermione."

The admission left him in a single breath, causing Hermione to arch her back so that she could look him in the eye. She searched his depths, seemingly inspecting for any sign of deception. Finding none, a smile spread across her face. "I love you, too."

And with that, Hermione pulled the blanket up over her head and pushed Draco back into the sheets, kissing over the muscles in his chest and abdomen before taking hold of his lips once more.

o-o-o

Draco stalked through the Floo and into the Manor as though he still had a right to be there. And he supposed, in the most basic sense, he did—the Manor would always recognize its heir. It was noon and his mother would be on the veranda, taking her tea. When he rounded the corner, Bobo tried to slow his trek, standing in front of him and putting his hands up. "Master Draco—you shouldn't be here. Lady Malfoy is hosting company."

_Even better._ "I must see her, right away."

"Lady Malfoy told Bobo not to let you interrupt her—"

Draco placed his hands on the house elf's shoulders and scooted him to the left. "Bobo," he began sternly, "if you do not move out of my way, I will forcibly remove you."

The elf began to shake slightly, and Draco felt guilt heating his cheeks. "Please. Go find Hux and the pair of you can water the rose bushes," he commanded, his voice softer.

Bobo simply nodded, rushing away on his short legs to fulfill his master's task. Draco stilled for a moment in the corridor, pinching the bridge of his nose before he squared his shoulders and continued his path to the veranda. As he approached the sliding door, he could see a gathering of the strangest individuals, all sitting around a long oak table.

Harry Potter threw his hands into the air as he talked animatedly. Pansy Parkinson was stewing next to him, her arms crossed as she pouted. Theo and Katie Bell were there, Theo with his usual relaxed face and Katie with a thin purse to her lips. Weasley and the sobbing Ravenclaw. Daphne, who was actually nestled into Neville Longbottom quite comfortably. His father, stroking his chin as he listened to Potter's tirade. What a pleasant surprise—he'd come to confront his mother and would have an audience.

Rage began to sear beneath the surface of his skin, boiling through his veins. His parents were creating an army of dissatisfied young couples to stage a coup against the Ministry and their ridiculous rules. While Draco agreed that the law should be repealed enough to allow the others freedom, he knew his parents were only doing it to split him and Hermione apart.

Throwing open the door, every head at the table jerked up to inspect the intruder. Save Theo, who sank down into his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face as he threaded his fingers behind his head. The look on his face said, _"This ought to be good."_ Draco would hex him if he weren't so intent on giving his parents a piece of his mind.

"What in the _fuck_ is going on here?" he questioned, looking directly at his father.

Lucius, for his part, looked wholly unfazed by Draco's presence, let alone his outburst. His mother pushed a plate of scones in his direction. "Watch your language in front of the guests, son. And eat something."

He looked at her in incredulity. "I don't want a _pastry_. I want to know why you have gathered the newlyweds all in one location. Conveniently enough, without mentioning a thing to Hermione or me."

Theo was still smiling widely. "We're going to petition the Ministry. Isn't that just splendid?" His tone suggested he didn't believe their efforts would work.

"Yes," Draco nearly growled, crossing his arms in an effort to keep his hands from shaking. "So I assumed. What I want to know is why."

"Why?" Potter shrieked, flailing his arms again in frustration. "Because this damn law has ruined our lives!"

Draco put his hand up to silence the wizard. "No. I understand why you all are. But why, _dearest parents_ , are you involved?"

"Son, sit down," his mother implored. One glance in her direction and he knew that she had quite a bit she wanted to say, but she was holding back in front of her guests.

"I don't want to sit, mother. I don't intend to stay," he told her.

The others were all looking between the Malfoys, an awkwardness settling over them. "You can't honestly be happy with what the Ministry has done, Malfoy," Katie Bell, or he supposed _Katie Nott_ , said from beside her husband.

"The Ministry did an underhanded, sneaky, and incredibly archaic deed," Draco corrected, frowning as he spoke. "But I can't say I am unhappy with it."

Lucius wore a look identical to his son's, though for an entirely different reason. "Be reasonable, Draco. You have let this farce of a union go for far too long without voicing the immorality of it all."

"You think that if you sit around here and gather up the Sacred Twenty-Eight heirs and their unhappy spouses that you'll be able to repeal this law—"

"We can, Draco!" Pansy screeched from beside Potter, sitting primly on the edge of her seat though she looked more like a petulant child than a high brow member of society. "They've played matchmaker in the worst possible way. And not _one_ couple has gotten pregnant!"

"Longbottom and Greengrass look _quite_ cozy," he pointed out.

Daphne leaned forward, Longbottom's arm falling from around her shoulders. "You're missing the point, Draco. This is immoral and unethical and _wrong_."

Draco's temper was boiling over. "You think I don't know this? You think I don't wish _every_ day of my life that my wife would have fallen in love with me _before_ we got married?"

"Love?" Narcissa squeaked from her place at the table.

"Don't be foolish, Draco," Lucius admonished, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Potter looked grim when he slowly shook his head. "It's true. Ginny wrote me this morning. Said Hermione seemed awfully _smitten_."

That simple declaration sent prickles of delight over Draco's entire being that he tried desperately to ignore. Hermione had only told him that morning exactly how she felt about him, but it pleased him to receive confirmation that she was being sincere—she'd told others. "I love Hermione," Draco voice aloud, and it was foreign to his ears as a blush rose over his cheeks. "And even if you succeed in getting this law revoked, I hate to break it to you, but I would remain married to her."

The Ravenclaw looked up from where she had been dabbing her eye with a serviette. "Well. How wonderful it is that it worked for you. The rest of us can't say the same."

At the contemptuous glare she threw in Weasley's direction, the redhead seemed wilt slightly. Pansy stood from her seat. "How can you even say such a thing, Draco? She's not one of us!"

"Watch it, Parkinson," Weasley barked, rising from his chair.

"No, you're right, Pansy," Draco supplied, barely containing his wrath as he felt his body vibrating with pent up magic. "Hermione is _nothing_ like us. She is kind, gentle, and forgiving!"

"That's not what she meant, and you know it, Malfoy," Potter mentioned, disgusted by his wife's utterance.

Narcissa sipped her tea, a strained eyebrow raised. "Pansy, do try and be a bit more diplomatic, dear. Draco, this is not up for debate."

Theo finally sat up, the amusement wiped from his face. "No, Mrs. Malfoy, you're right. It's not up for debate. _We_ will go forward with our plans as discussed. Draco doesn't need to side with us if he loves his wife."

"I am completely for overturning the law," Draco argued, looking to Theo, "but there is no reason for my parents to be involved. The arranged-marriage contracts were annulled—you cannot force me to marry Astoria. I know that is the real meaning of your involvement!"

His father slammed the brass snake of his cane against the table top. He was working his jaw and the vein in his forehead throbbed. " _Enough!_ Enough, Draco! This has gone on far too long. You have made a complete mockery of this family!"

Lucius' outburst disgusted him and he felt his stomach flop. The bigotry and ideals he still held were everything Hermione had made Draco forget since their matching. Draco looked at each person, eventually fixating on Longbottom, who looked far too intimidated by being at the Manor to actually speak. "Neville," he tried for informality and the wizard glanced up at Draco's use of his given name. "You and Daph appear to be happy. What will you do if they repeal the law and annul all marriages that came of this?"

Longbottom smiled and took Daphne's hand. "We thought we might like to try courting—by our own choice, this time."

_Absurd._ They were already married, and yet they would like to try dating? All so that they may end up married _again_? It seemed an awful lot of effort to achieve the end they were already living. "You can press for this all you want," he ground out, looking at his father. "But Hermione and I will remain married."

"Then the Malfoy line will end with you," Lucius replied acidly.

"You're wrong," Draco told him, lifting his chin in blatant defiance. "There will be a grandchild—the two of you just won't know him. Or her, if we're lucky."

And with that, Draco turned on his heel and stalked away from the veranda, his hands shaking at his sides. If he didn't leave, he would surely end up in Azkaban, on the giving end of a hex. His parents were the foulest of individuals and shame radiated through him at the thought of having to carry on their legacy.

He made his way through the house and the sound of footsteps echoed his. "What do you want, Nott?" he called over his shoulder, knowing instinctively exactly who would be following.

"Bloody brilliant display of rebellion," Theo commented, shoving his hands into his pockets and bouncing on the balls of his feet when Draco turned.

"I will be with Hermione, and _they_ ," he shoved a finger in the direction of the veranda, "won't stand in the way."

Theo simply stared at him and nodded. "You done?"

Draco fought the urge to whip out his wand and drop Theo like a bad habit. His friend scrubbed a hand over his face and licked his lips. "Look Draco, I'm happy for you that you have finally found love. I've always hoped you'd find someone willing to tolerate your poncy arse."

Draco scoffed. "Are you just going to insult me, then?"

"But," Theo raised his voice, trying to drown out the snide remark, "the rest of us didn't make out so lucky. Katie's not bad, but she wouldn't fuck me if I was the last rich pureblood in England."

"I know my parents, Nott. They'll try to get this overturned, as well as get the marriage contract reinstated. I will not leave Hermione—we're in it too deep now."

Theo clapped him on the back and turned him toward the door. "I doubt they would reinstate marriage contracts. If they do away with one archaic marriage law, they'd have to do away with the others. But we need to do this—it's not right, what the Ministry's done."

Draco knew that the cause was a just one—he agreed with them that this never should have happened. The government had taken away their free will. But the thought of losing Hermione should old marriage contracts be reinforced made him want to vomit. Merlin, he could think of nothing worse than waking up next to Astoria while his heart rested within Hermione's.

When they made it to the door, Theo gave his shoulder an extra hard squeeze. "And mate—I know you'd rather spend your time buried between Hermione's legs, but you need to get out more often. Blaise and I haven't properly seen you in weeks."

Cringing as guilt wracked through him—these two wizards _were_ like brothers—Draco gave him a nod. "Soon. Right now I want nothing more than to see her."

"I've never seen you like this. For fuck's sake—you're like a lovesick little dragon," Theo told him with a booming laugh.

And Draco felt sickened by the fact that he loved Hermione so much that losing her would devastate him. Would likely kill him. He disapparated with a crack and landed in the center of the book shop.

Hermione looked up from where she was stacking books on the bottom shelf of the potions section and gave him a brilliant smile. The worry began to melt away from his shoulders as he drank her in. He could only hope everything would be alright.

o-o-o


	13. Chapter 13

Hermione sat next to Draco, feeling as though she was drowning in a mix of emotions. The Wizengamot and the six members of the Wizarding Repopulation Council sat spread out in a semi-circle before them. Fifty pairs of Ministry-appointed couples sat in the courtroom, along with some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight's more prominent members, every face showing identical looks—apprehension, anger, uncertainty.

Draco's leg was bouncing rapidly as he stared at the back of his father's head. His face was pulled into a sour frown, the wrinkle between his brows a deep trench. Hermione reached over and placed her hand on his knee, giving him what she hoped looked like a comforting smile. "It'll be okay."

"We had marriage contracts in place—binding magical agreements—long before this mockery of a law was put into place!" Lucius' voice boomed over the courtroom, echoing off of the marble floors and walls.

Draco's hand was shaking when Hermione placed hers overtop. She laced her fingers with his and gave it a squeeze. "I cannot marry Astoria, Hermione. I can't."

Her eyes shot to where the witch in question sat. Paired with a wizard Hermione vaguely recognized as being a Ravenclaw a grade below hers at Hogwarts, the Greengrass daughter was sitting straight, staring blankly at a place over the Wizengamot's seating. She looked as though she were trying to imagine herself anywhere but the chilly, depressive courtroom. Hermione couldn't blame her—her own nerves were working her into an internal frenzy.

"Mr. Malfoy, the contracts of which you speak were put into effect under an outdated allowance granted by the Wizards' Council in 1553. Meant to ensure the wealthy remain wealthy," Harriet Crone began, sounding disgusted with Lucius' argument. As the Director of the Wizarding Repopulation Council, she was dressed in sharp robes of bright chartreuse, a large embroidered crest over her breast. She was a severe-looking woman, with bright bottle-dyed red hair and purple lipstick. "Those allowances were meant to keep the wealth contained within the same handful of families and benefit no one outside of the pureblood community."

"How can you uphold one law while abolishing another?" Lucius tried again.

"Mr. Malfoy, everyone here is aware of the stance your family took during the war," Kingsley Shacklebolt said from the Minister's throne, and Hermione felt Draco stiffen beside her. "It is time to move forward and be progressive. The muggle-born and half-blood population has nearly tripled in the last century, though there has been a sharp decline in magical births of any kind in the last decade."

Lucius began to lose his temper, "This law has taken away the free will of those you swore to protect!"

At this point, Harry, who was seated across the aisle from the Malfoys, stood. "Minister," his voice was clear as he spoke evenly.

Hermione had known Harry long enough to know that he was attempting not to lose his cool completely. The slow cadence to his voice was the one he used when trying to reason with her back in their school days. He shot a dirty look in Lucius' direction—clearly the Malfoys' ploy to get the Chosen One on their side hadn't quite worked out the way they had planned. "We agree that this law has taken away free will. A group of fifty-six individuals decided for one hundred of us—plus however many in the future generation—what was best for us. It has been months and not one pairing has gotten pregnant. More than half of the paired couples have yet to even consummate their marriages. The law amounts to little more than government-backed rape, and not one person on this side of the law supports that notion."

At Harry's harsh wording, a few elderly witches in the Wizengamot gasped and Harriet Crone lifted her nose, looking down at Harry as though he were a bug beneath her shoe instead of the most influential wizard currently living. "Mr. Potter, if you think you have a more efficient way of making sure our kind does not die out, please share with the rest of us."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Hermione and then looked back to the council. "I'd like to ask Hermione Malfoy to step up and assist me."

Over the past couple of weeks, Hermione had compiled statistics and formulated an argument. She rose, grasping a file in her hand as Draco smiled anxiously up at her. Patting his arm as she passed—an action that the Wizengamot noticed and would likely try to use as proof that their methods had worked in some cases—Hermione lifted her head high as she stepped up next to Harry.

A few law-makers shifted in their seats, angling to better listen to what the champion of human rights would have to say now. Hermione had already argued against the law at its enactment, but she saw this as a second chance. "The Ministry has a history of being _reactive_ rather than _proactive_ ," she attempted to keep the shaking from her voice, holding her head high with a confidence she was lacking. "The wizarding population is falling in numbers and the first _reaction_ is to set forth a chain of archaic, and frankly immoral, laws."

"What would you suggest to be _proactive_ then?" Bigsby Higgins asked from beside Crone, raising an eyebrow.

"First, we need to discuss _why_ the population has been falling over the last decade. There was a War being fought for the better portion of that time—a War that took lives more invaluable and irreplaceable than any law could ever account for. Anyone sane would have an issue trying to bring children into a world where Voldemort lurked in the shadows," Hermione retorted, her face burning as she felt her husband's eyes on her.

Beside her, Lucius and Narcissa eyed her with thinly-veiled disgust. They'd thought Harry would fight for _their_ cause, but they never expected her to fight for the right to love their son of her own volition. "And in the years following the War, the tides have changed. Gone are the days of pureblood witches remaining socialites, bred and never heard. The witches in our community want to be active, to have their voices heard!"

"What does this have to do with the marriage law, Miss Granger?" Shacklebolt questioned, sitting back in his seat and looking far older than he actually was.

"Malfoy. Or don't you recall why we're here?" she quipped, casting a sideways glance at her in-laws. "In its incessant need to be _reactive_ —the population is falling because proper measures were never taken to begin with—the Ministry has taken being _proactive_ to the extreme, setting forth laws that strip the citizens of our rights!"

"To begin with? What does that mean?" Higgins asked, and the look on his face was far too amused for Hermione's liking.

She squared her shoulders and fought the urge to sound too holier-than-thou, though all she wanted was to tear into them, rip them to shreds right down to their roots. How convenient that not one of the individuals in the WRC had been affected by the new laws. "These asinine 'pureblood arranged-marriage contracts' should have been abolished years ago. The mortality rate among purebloods, because of repeated bouts of inbreeding, has dropped to only one in five children being born to these families surviving to infanthood. Had those twenty-eight-plus individuals been able to broaden their prospective suitors, they would have had the chance for far more children. Not to mention the stigma of marrying a Muggle or even a Muggle-born, perpetuated by your leniency on such policies. It's no wonder you have so few witches and wizards populating, the War aside."

" _Again_ ," Crone spat in her direction, looking as though she were dealing with petulant children refusing to do their homework, "what do you think we should do instead?"

"Give it _time_. The workforce is changing—witches are establishing careers before deciding they want to have children. _For now_. That's not to say that we won't _ever_ have children. We haven't had a chance to fully recover from the War—a war that Harry and I, alongside many of the individuals in this room you are currently punishing, fought on your behalves. This law needs to be repealed and free will returned to those who should choose to separate from the ill-suited matches you forced upon them. If allowed to marry for love, within a decade, I am willing to bet that the population will increase drastically as couples get to a place where they are comfortable and settle into their lives together."

"And if they should choose to look outside of the wizarding world? Marry Muggles?" a slight witch of about thirty asked, her magenta Ministry robes swallowing her.

"Then we would have a generation of half-witches or wizards, a problem I fail to see. Seamus Finnigan is a half-blood and he fought brilliantly alongside the rest of us," Harry chimed in, crossing his arms.

Seamus, paired with Lavender Brown, nodded from where he sat, giving Harry a silent salute. Silence fell over the entire courtroom and Hermione and Harry stood, an impasse settling between where they stood and the raised dais where the Ministry-officials sat. "Government-implemented marriage laws," Hermione said quietly into the room, her voice still echoing as everyone around her listened and dare not move, "will only push those you claim to protect to seek a life that eschews the one you are trying to force. I would not be surprised if, in an effort to escape a life of bitter hatred and incompatibility, some people in this room were to leave and move to other countries or go into hiding in the Muggle world while they wait for this to be repealed."

"And it _will_ be repealed eventually," Harry commented, taking hold of Hermione's hand in a show of solidarity, an act that made Crone arch an eyebrow in a knowing way.

"I see," she commented, her voice smug. "You want us to repeal this so that you might carry on with some teenaged crush."

"No," Hermione was quick to speak. "I will remain married to Draco Malfoy."

"So, then our program worked then," Crone argued, her tone growing increasingly more complacent.

Harry glared at her and then turned around to face the crowd seated at their backs. "By a show of hands, who will remain married to their current spouses given the opportunity to do this all over again?"

Hermione and Draco raised their hands, along with Michael Corner and Padma Patil. Everyone else looked on in apprehensive distaste. "Yes. I'd say it worked splendidly. You've got a four percent satisfaction rating," Harry mentioned, turning around to face their opponents once more. "This is now our fourth attempt to get the law overturned—we will not let up until it is done away with."

"It's immoral, unethical, and completely unfounded," Hermione added and Shacklebolt held a hand up to quiet them.

"I believe we can come to a decision without—"

Kingsley's voice began to fade as Hermione grew hot around the collar. Her emotions were swarming within her, each one with a sharp barb meant to pierce her confidence. The possibility that they would rule in their favor was very real and with a look at the Malfoys, she realized that a ruling in _their_ favor was possible as well. If Draco's betrothal to Astoria Greengrass were reinstated, she didn't know if she could stand to see him again. To know what they had and could have had, while knowing it had all been lost. Still, Hermione knew that the law was wrong—had attempted on multiple other occasions to point this fact out to the lawmakers.

Heat rose from under her robes and she had to fight the urge to take the garment off. Her ears were ringing loudly, drowning out the sound of murmured voices all around her. The wizards and witches in brightly colored robes were raising their hands—why she did not know. As her heartbeat began to pulse quickly in her neck, her body grew heavy and the room began to spin.

o-o-o

"Mr. Malfoy?" A Healer came out of Hermione's room, smiling broadly. He was a large, jovial man with a boyish face hidden beneath a thick beard. Something about the man reminded Draco of Hagrid.

Draco shot up and he crossed the waiting room in three long strides. "What is it? Is she okay?"

"Mother and babies are just fine," the Healer replied, sending Hermione's chart via paper airplane zooming down the hall toward the medi-witches' station.

Draco's stepped stuttered to a halt and his eyes grew wide. "Babies?" he croaked, his voice hoarse.

Potter came up behind him, placing a hand on Draco's shoulder. "What do you mean, Healer? _Babies_?"

The wizard pulled out a moving photo of two small, trembling dots within a large circle. "Hermione is pregnant. With twins. Not too far along—I'd wager to say ten weeks at most, but we won't know until we run further testing."

Draco could tell that the Healer was speaking. But the words seemed foreign to him, like he had begun speaking ancient Aramaic. Potter's voice sounded at his left. "But she is alright?"

"Dehydration. She will be fit as a fiddle soon enough," was the response the Healer gave before he slipped away down the hall.

With hands that were shaking uncontrollably and knees that may have been knocking, Draco stood rooted to the spot in the corridor just outside Hermione's door. Potter stood next to him, staring at him as though waiting for him to run. Or faint. Or faint while trying to run. "You okay, mate?" he inquired, tilting his head and searching Draco's profile.

"I may vomit," Draco replied and Potter took a large step back.

"Er—why don't you go in and see Hermione?"

_Hermione? Hermione who?_ Confusion and fear filled him as he felt himself nod. Potter put a hand on his back and pushed him toward her door. Draco pushed the door out of the way and peered inside, his heart thrumming erratically. His wife lay in her bed, wringing the bed linen between her fingers and chewing on her lip. At the sound of his footsteps, she looked up.

A blush crept over her features and she gave him a small smile. "Hey," she chirped quietly as he closed the door and leaned back on it.

She was radiant—how had he _not_ known all along? Even surrounded by stark white bedding and sterile metal instruments and hospital room-green walls, Hermione looked like Venus herself. Her hair had fallen from its tidy bun and was loose and crazy about her head, just the way he liked it. Her bottom lip plump from her teeth's ministrations. "Hey," he mimicked and he felt a smile spread over his features little by little.

"How did it go?"

Typical. She was worried about the fate of everyone else instead of focusing on the fact that she had just fallen out. _And that she was pregnant._ "They repealed it. Conditionally. If in five years, the population hasn't grown to their liking, they will _revisit_ the marriage law."

"What about us?" her voice was a gentle whisper and he barely caught it from across the room.

The part he had been dreading. He shoved off of the door and crossed to her bed. He placed his hand over hers on her belly, where she had been absently rubbing. "They repealed them _all_."

Hermione deflated completely before his eyes, her shoulders slumping before she pursed her lips and determination flashed over her features. "We'll go as soon as I'm released."

He bit the inside of his cheek, trying to think of the best way to break the next slice of bad news to her. He looked up at her, into her earnest and innocent eyes. "The Ministry will not issue marriage contracts of any kind for one year while they 'restructure' the department."

"But," her hand went back to her belly, already protective after only a few short minutes of knowledge, "we're going to have a baby. _Babies._ "

Draco let out a bitter laugh and looked at her sheepishly, a sly grin on his face. "My parents didn't take the news very well. You think the news that they'll have not one but _two_ bastard grandchildren soon is enough to get them locked up in the psychiatric ward?"

Hermione swatted his arm painfully. "Don't call them that."

"Sorry, love," he replied, a huge grin on his face. "I just think this tiny piece of irony and rebellion is sweet justice over them _and_ the Ministry. I couldn't marry Astoria even if they offered the Greengrass family our entire fortune—she won't birth my heir."

Hermione frowned at him, clearly not happy that he was finding so much glee in such murky territory. Draco raised his hand to cup her cheek and brushed his lips across hers. "Granger—"

"Don't call me that. I'm still Malfoy," she murmured, tilting her face to allow Draco to skim down her throat.

"Sorry. _Malfoy_. You're going to be a mummy—to two!" he told her, his voice full of awe as he pulled away and let his eyes sweep over her blanketed form.

"What about you? _Daddy?_ "

A shiver ran through him at the word and his eyes glanced at his forearm involuntarily. Hermione noticed and put a hand over where the Mark rested. "You'll be brilliant, you know?"

The adrenaline and high of receiving the news were wearing off and was being replaced with a fear unlike any he had ever felt, a sensation like an ice cube slipping down into his belly. "My mother probably told my father the same thing."

"You're not your father!" Hermione growled with conviction. "Not even close. You're a wonderful husband and I have no doubt that you'll be an even better father."

"Oh, yeah. That reminds me," he muttered, reaching for her hand. His finger danced over the ruby that sat atop her finger. "Will you marry me? Again?"

Hermione let out a melodic laugh and grabbed his face between her hands, kissing him fully. "You silly wizard. Nothing would make me happier!"

**THE END**

o-o-o


	14. Epilogue

Hermione rushed around the cottage, gathering odds and ends for her ensemble. A sweet melody filtered in through the open windows, played by the string quartet—a lovely group of four vampires who were perched comfortably under the canopy outside. Danae had finally stopped crying after a long bout of wailing and was nestled into her chest, surely wrinkling Hermione's dress. Her sister, Eleni, was snuggling into Draco's neck as he rubbed her back.

"I know I left the shoes down here!" Hermione shrieked, looking around for the pair of leather thongs she had bought to go with her flowing white summer dress.

"Love, we're going to the back gardens. Just go barefoot," Draco suggested, half-heartedly scanning the floors for the offending article of clothing.

Hermione glared at him over the head of their daughter's angel soft locks. She ran her lips over the tufts, the silky-smooth feel and distinctly sweet baby smell bringing her comfort. She looked exhausted, dark circles forming under her eyes from sleepless nights. Draco knew his own face mimicked hers, but as she smoothed a hand over the tiny white dress they had selected for their girls, her curls wilder than ever and her eyes clearly glowering at him, he loved her more than ever. "I can't go _barefoot_ to our _wedding_. I'll look foolish!"

A smile played at Draco's lips as he kissed Eleni and toed off his own shoes. "I'll go barefoot as well then. We can be foolish together!"

Her exasperation melted away at the sight of Draco in a full suit, peeling away his socks one at a time. Eleni shifted in his arms, her tiny hand touching the skin of his throat. "Can we go get married now?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow at his witch.

Hermione smiled and took his hand, allowing him to pull her gently toward the door. "I suppose we have to now."

"We've already done this once. Why are you so nervous?" he asked as they took their place at the door.

"Because this time I want it more than anything, and that scares me."

Draco smiled at her and ran a hand over her curls and then over Danae's. "We're in this together. For life. Just as I told you that day when we discussed negotiations—wizards do not flit in and out of marriages."

The music began playing louder and the Flitwick looked at them from his place on the pedestal. Draco took Hermione's hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze before they took a step together. For the second time, they strode forward to get married, but this time the feeling of dread and hesitance were replaced with joy and excitement.

When they reached the dais, Hermione handed Danae to an incredibly pregnant Ginny and Theo took Eleni, a sparkle in his eye as he rubbed a finger over her pudgy cheek. Flitwick began by thanking everyone who was in attendance. Draco didn't listen to much, as he was solely focused on Hermione—the way her face lit up with admiration when her eyes met his, the secret, shy smile that curved her lips as she ran her thumb over his knuckles.

It came time to kiss, and in true show-off fashion, he kissed Hermione with even more passion than he had the first time. Cheers sounded around them and petals from the cherry blossom branches showered down around them. "I love you," Hermione murmured against his lips, wrapping her hands around his wrists as he cupped her face, bringing them to brush against hers for a brief second kiss.

"Merlin, Hermione, I love you. Danae and Eleni, too. You three have made me the happiest man in the world," Draco whispered, bringing his lips to touch her forehead before he turned away and lifted their clasped hands in the air between them.

In the far-left corner of the garden, he caught a head of blonde hair, standing away from all of the others. His mother lifted her hand in a half-wave before raising it self-consciously to smoother her hair. Her lips were pulled into a tight line, but she lifted one corner and Draco smiled kindly. This was the first time his mother would meet his children and he felt his heart beginning to thrum wildly in his chest. He hadn't spoken to her in person since the day he had told her that they would never know their grandchildren and for that, guilt surged through him.

Hermione nudged him and he looked down at her. Concern shined in her eyes as she asked an unvoiced question. _Are you okay with her being here?_ Draco nodded and gave her a gentle tug so that they could walk down the aisle and back toward the cottage, their friends still cheering (whooping in Theo's case, while Eleni cooed excitably) all around them.

Catching his mother's eye once more, he gave a subtle nod toward the door. Narcissa slipped inside and Draco brushed flower petals from his shoulders before he stepped into the home. Hermione tried to drop his hand. "I'll go and greet guests. Give you two a moment."

"No," Draco told her, holding her hand tighter. "We are together and if she can't handle that, then she can leave."

When they stepped into the home, Narcissa was looking around at all of Hermione's eccentric decorative choices, a blank look on her face as she took it all in. "Mother," Draco greeted unkindly, already building mental defensive walls around himself, ready to also defend Hermione.

His mother turned, smoothing her hands over her crisp violet robes. Draco knew she was wholly uncomfortable, but for once, he didn't think it had anything to do with his wife's existence. No. She looked _embarrassed._ "Son," she replied, and he could hear the shaking in her voice, the anxiety. "You have a lovely home here."

"It's Hermione's brainchild. I go with whatever she wants," he shrugged, and Hermione smiled from beside him.

"It's lovely to see you again," she told her mother-in-law and Draco fought the scoff that nearly escaped his lips.

Ginny knocked quietly on the doorjamb behind them. "I'm sorry to interrupt. But I think this babe is hungry," she announced, gesturing to where Danae gummed a ruffle on her dress.

Draco watched as his mother's face twitched and her eyes began to shine, though she remained stoic and did not cry. Hermione took the baby and asked Ginny to find Theo before she stepped up to Narcissa. "This is Danae. She was the second one. Born thirteen minutes after her sister, Eleni. She is the little trouble maker—she can get her sister crying in two seconds flat."

"Heiresses," Narcissa mumbled, placing a hand over the baby's chest and touching her finger to the baby's chin. "The first females born to the Malfoy line in five centuries and you have _two_."

Theo's footsteps sounded in the doorway and Draco turned. "Eleni," he said, taking the baby from Theo's arms.

Theo stared at him, crossing his arms. Draco glanced over his shoulder at his mother and then shook his head at his friend—it was okay. For now. Narcissa looked at the second baby, running a hand over her soft hair. She appeared as though she didn't know how to react. Draco could tell that she was overwhelmed and he gestured to the couch. "Why don't you sit? You can hold them."

His mother glanced between him and Hermione and then sat stiffly on the edge of the nearby sofa. Draco exchanged a look with his wife and knelt before his mother, placing his daughters into his mother's cradled arms one at a time.

"I'll go get them some milk," Hermione told him, giving him an encouraging smile.

Draco hadn't realized how important it was to see her there, to have her interact with her family until it was happening. He refused to feel the bitter remorse that his father had still not come around, and instead focused on the small victory of his mother sitting on his couch, holding his little girls.

The joy he felt was overwhelming and his emotions threatened to burst. His mother bent to kiss each baby on the head and he could see the years of regret just under the surface of her features. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead, breathing in the scent that had comforted him for years, hoping that she understood the meaning behind it.

_Everything will be alright._

o-o-o


End file.
